


cold hands, warm heart

by immortal_trash (Quill_A)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: AU- they are mortal, Alternate Meeting, Alternate Universe- Modern Setting - Freeform, Dogs, Fluff, Found Family, Joe bakes a lot, Joe owns the shop, M/M, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Nile is the only sane person in this fic, Pining, SO MUCH FLUFF, Shy!Nicky, Tropey as hell, True Love, Writer!Nicky, a medium burn, coffee shop AU, slightly younger characters, somewhere between a fast burn and a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quill_A/pseuds/immortal_trash
Summary: “That is very thoughtful of you,” the man says, almost surprised. From anyone else the words would have sounded sarcastic, but not him. From him it sounds sincere, warm. He honestly thinks Joe is thoughtful. He has no idea how selfish his reasons were.“I’m going to continue this trend of thoughtfulness and get you your order,” Joe decides, pointing his pen at him. “And I hope you’re hungry. Anything particular you’re in the mood for?”The man looks at him and something flashes through his eyes, gone before Joe can recognise it. His lips curve up into something resembling a smirk, but it’s so soft it's more of a teasing smile. “Surprise me.”Joe feels his stomach flip over. “Noted.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Minor Andy/Qyunh
Comments: 123
Kudos: 376





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> has anyone written a coffee shop AU yet? Yes? No? Are there already too many? I don't care. You're getting ANOTHER one.

Joe is a good boss. Very lenient, for one thing. He doesn’t care that Andy occasionally filches the freshly made baklava when it’s on the cooling rack, and he _knows_ that Booker’s been using the extra fridge to store his alcohol stash, and sometimes Nile will spend an extra twenty minutes on her break listening to music but Joe thinks of himself as a very accommodating man. He does have one rule though: _be punctual_. At least show up on time first thing in the morning. Honestly, everything else can just follow from there.

When he’d started the shop, he hadn’t even considered that he’d probably have to _hire_ people and tell them what to do, and when he’d realised he couldn’t _actually_ do everything himself, the prospect of finding people to _work for him_ had been daunting. But he’d done it. Well, he’d hired Nile, who was the first candidate for the job and she seemed nice enough, she said she was an art history major so they had some common interests, and the only work-related question he’d asked was “Do you like coffee?”, which okay, maybe wasn’t a work related question. And Nile had just said, “No, not really,” which Joe had found hilarious. So he’d hired her. And then he’d told Nile to hire two other people, which he thinks she’d done with aplomb.

She hired Andy, who never smiles at customers and gets irritated when they too long to order and Booker, who once spent fifteen minutes telling a lovely young lady that about his break up the previous week, and she’d spent a majority of the fifteen minutes trying to tell him that she really just wanted to order coffee and she was very sorry about it but please, man, could you just give me my order, I’m late for work.

But they somehow managed to get along well, and Joe was the kind of person who loved quickly and easily, so even _if_ Booker was probably doing something shady with all that alcohol and Andy was a baklava thief, they were, in all aspects of the term, his family. And, to be honest, Andy got a lot of tips and she never kept it for herself. Because of her super hot, super rich girlfriend, she explained, those exact words in that exact order.

  
  


Monday morning dawns cold and crisp and Joe’s trying to figure out who he can fit in for an extra shift this week while he walks to the cafe. He doesn’t want to ask Nile because she has a test to study for, which leaves Andy and Booker. Alright, it’s definitely going to be Booker because Andy will bully him into covering for her. He feels a little guilty at the thought so he resolves to ~~beg~~ request firmly that Andy be the one to do it.

He sets his shoulder against the door and pushes his way in, trying to balance the enormous box of muffins in his arms. “Morning,” he calls, right before the door clicks shut and he realises there is exactly one person at the counter.

“Morning!” Nile jumps off the stool she was sitting on and makes a beeline for Joe, immediately lifting the box out of his arms. “Oh man, I love muffin day.”

“Where’s Andy? Booker?” Joe takes off his jacket and scans the empty room. Nile must have been here for a while because it’s pleasantly warm and it smells of air freshener and lemon-scented disinfectant. 

“Well,” Nile starts, but gets momentarily side tracked while she places the box on a nearby table, wrenches the lid off and makes a grab for one of the muffins. “Booker should be here in a bit. Andy said she can’t make it. Oh my god, this is so good.”

“You like it? Can you smell the saffron?” Joe asks, and then, because apparently he’s an employee short today and he’s just recently been made aware of it, “Also, what the hell?”

  
“Um, well,” Nile shrugs, wiping her mouth. Joe rolls his eyes and lets out an irritated exhale because it’s fucking _Monday_ and it’s the busiest day and it’s going to be a nightmare managing the shop. “Guess it’ll just be me and Book. And yes, it’s delicious.”

Nile swallows down the muffin in record speed and makes to grab another one but Joe fits the lid over it before she can. “These are for the customers,” he points out absently, “You stay at the counter today, let Booker serve…” he makes a frustrated noise. “I will help.”

Nile waves him off and wrestles the box away from him, ignoring Joe’s token protest and nicking another muffin before she mercifully leaves it alone and heads back to the counter. “We are going to get _so_ many tips today,” she calls over her shoulder.

“You always say that,” Joe mutters, gathering up his muffins and his jacket and making his way towards the kitchen, thinking that if he survives this morning, he’s going to buy Nile dinner. 

***

  
Joe is in hell. 

The day starts slowly, which is uncharacteristic for the start of the week, and for a small, naive moment he thinks it’s not the worst possible thing that he’s two employees short, and Nile and him can handle this. 

That was an hour ago. 

Booker still hasn’t turned up; Joe considers the idea of firing him and then quickly discards it because a) Booker is his friend and b) he doesn’t have time to think about this, actually, because he’s currently balancing two trays in his hands, one of which has four steaming hot coffees and another which is piled high with plates of food. 

“Table 8, table 16, table 3 and 5,” Nile rattles off quickly, before adding another plate, almost apologetically. 

“Right,” Joe says shortly. A customer at the counter starts shouting for someone to take her order and Nile rushes off. 

Joe enjoys serving, really. In fact he used to do it all the time. But Nile, who he likes to think of as his second in command, had gotten so good at delegating shifts and jobs that he honestly didn’t have to. Sometimes he misses it. On days like these, he reflects, as a bit of coffee spills over onto his wrist and he can’t even flinch because he’s going to drop everything- he doesn’t. 

He succeeds in depositing most of the stuff at the required tables- and he even manages to smile at each of his customers and say “Lovely day isn’t it,” (even though his day so far has been anything but lovely), which customers usually like.

He’s about to go to the next table when several things happen at once. He hears the faint tingling of the bell at the top of the door, which he doesn’t pay much attention to, but the person who enters presumably doesn’t look where he’s going (and Joe is carrying a fucking tray, alright, Nile is the multi tasker, not him) and when Joe passes in front of the door as he’s making his way to the other end of the room, a brief gust of cool wind blows into the shop, ruffles his hair, and then a second later something warm and blunt bumps into him from the side. Joe stumbles, but doesn’t drop anything because he keeps the tray steady; he does however, twist around (mainly on instinct) to politely say _are you blind_?

He can’t, though, because the man immediately holds up a hand and says, “I’m so sorry-” and Joe pauses for the first time since the morning rush began.

“Sorry,” the man says again, looking right into his eyes with a very intense, very blue gaze. “Did you drop anything?”

“No,” Joe replies tersely, staying frozen for another moment before he hurriedly turns around and continues on towards table 3 because he can’t just spend five minutes staring at customers- even if they are gorgeous and have the bluest eyes he’s ever seen- 

“Oh thank god,” the customer at table 3 says once he gets to her, and Joe smiles apologetically and attempts to make amends by telling her she looks absolutely stunning this morning. 

On his way back, empty tray tucked under his arm, he passes Mr. Possibly-Blind-But-Quite-Gorgeous, who’s taken a seat by the window, his laptop open and eyes fixed on the screen. Joe decides that there’s no point going back to the counter for more orders now, because he can see that he has at least a few moments before the next wave of customers. Everyone’s got their order- Nile is leaning against the counter and not looking expectant or hassled- so he approaches the one customer who’s without one.

“Good morning,” he says, coming to stand next to the table, giving him an easy and hopefully warm smile. “What can I get you?”

The man looks up, and Joe takes a subtle and quick overview; he’s actually very good at checking someone out without making them uncomfortable. His hair is light brown, cut on the shorter side but it still somehow gives the effect of looking messy, probably because of those sideburns- long, pale fingers smudged with ink, but Joe finds himself quite unable to appreciate anything as much as his eyes. 

Oh god the man is _blushing,_ there’s a faint pink tinge to the tops of his cheeks. Joe immediately tries to fix his expression into something more polite and disinterested, although that _does_ prove difficult.

“I am sorry about bumping into you,” the man says in a rush, surprising him. Oh, _that’s_ why he was blushing. “I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.” He speaks clearly, but there’s some accent pulling at his words which Joe doesn’t entirely recognise. 

He waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. Can I take your order?”

The man blinks at him, like he didn’t quite catch what Joe said but he shakes his head minutely and says, “Yes, thank you. A black coffee, please.”

“Of course. Anything to eat?” 

Then man frowns, and then shrugs. “Whatever you think is best.” Which is something customers don’t say very often, probably because they think that they’ll be served the most expensive thing on the menu. But this man- this very good looking, achingly polite man, seems to have no issues with letting Joe choose something for him.

“Whatever _I_ think is best,” Joe repeats, very solemnly, making a show of writing it down on his notepad. The man’s lips quirk at the action, and Joe decides to make him smile _properly_ when he brings him his order. “I’ll be sure to make sure you don’t regret it.”

He puts his pad back into the pocket of his apron, winks at the man, and then turns around to head back to Nile. Should he have winked? Maybe he shouldn’t have winked. It was instinctual. He can’t even turn around and check if the man was offended by the wink. 

“Damn,” Nile says as soon as Joe approaches her. “I should have taken table 8, huh?” She looks appraisingly at the seat next to the window, and Joe finally risks a glance. Blind-And-Gorgeous is typing something on his laptop, one leg crossed over a knee under the table, seemingly unbothered by the wink. Joe is relieved.

He turns away from the lovely sight and towards Nile. “Shut up,” he mutters, leaning over the counter and resting his forearms on the surface. “And get that man a black coffee. And the saffron muffins I brought in today.”

Nile whistles.. “Someone’s getting the special treatment. I thought those were for tomorrow.”

She moves towards the machine before Joe can say anything in his defence- _if_ he can say anything in his defence- and Joe decides maybe he shouldn’t stand on this side of the counter because it looks unprofessional, and to be honest, Nile has a much better vantage point of the entire cafe.

Of course, the man doesn’t do anything terribly exciting while Joe is ~~ogling~~ looking respectfully at him, but the next seven minutes are still very pleasant because the man has a way of furrowing his eyebrows and bringing his knuckles to his mouth that Joe finds very adorable

“Here,” Nile slides the tray in front of him, complete with the order of black coffee and Joe’s very special muffin, which also happens to be his favourite. “And maybe don’t stare.”

“I’m not staring,” Joe whispers furiously at her, and _that’s_ a defensive line if he ever uttered one, so Nile predictably raises her eyebrows at him. Joe rolls his eyes and picks up the tray, heading out from behind the counter and weaving his way through the tables until he’s in front of table 8. The man looks up with that happy-but-trying-not-to-show-it expression most customers have when they get their order.

“Here you go,” Joe says, placing his mug on the table. “And how’s your morning going so far?”

Maybe Joe shouldn’t talk. Maybe the man just wants to have his coffee in peace. Or he might be one of those people who hates it when the waiter makes small talk. Okay, granted, most customers _are_ happy to talk to him, but any one of these days his luck might run out.

Today is not that day. The man smiles at him. _Smiles_ at him, properly! And Joe didn’t even have to _do_ anything. It’s a soft, gentle smile, and Joe is trying not to stare, he’s _trying-_

“As well as can be expected,” he concedes, his hand already curling around the mug and pulling it towards him. He tilts his head. “And yours?”

“Pretty good,” Joe feels his smile turn a little crooked, and if he stands here any longer his flirting is going to go from smooth and subtle to overt and probably unwelcome. “Anyway,” he continues, loudly. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Joe,” the man says, with a quick glance at his name tag. 

He almost wants to say _It’s Yusuf,_ but he doesn’t. He nods and says, “You’re welcome,” and turns around to leave.

“Did you get his number?” Nile asks him very quietly and very excitedly. Joe gives her a withering look. She looks disappointed. “No? How is that possible? Last week you got that other guy’s number in like, five minutes.”

“That man _gave_ me his number,” Joe points out. “Also. Tell me. Does he look like he’s enjoying his muffin?”

Nile dutifully raises her gaze over Joe’s head and leans a little to the side so she can get a proper look. “Don’t _stare,_ ” Joe reminds her.

“ _Shhh,_ ” she looks at him for a moment longer and then turns to Joe. “He’s almost done with it, so I’d say yeah.”

“Good,” Joe says calmly. “That’s good.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Nile shakes her head. “This is pathetic. Just get his number.”

“In time,” Joe tells her, very wisely, although he honestly has no idea how he would go about doing such a thing. He’s done it many, many times before, with very little effort. So this shouldn’t be that difficult, right?

“Well, we don’t have it,” Nile says shortly, glancing towards the door. “Because we’ve got a big group coming in.”

Joe sighs. “I’m going to kill Booker. And Andy.”

Thankfully, however, Booker does arrive in the next twenty minutes, and Joe has to decide between throwing the coffee he’s carrying _at him_ or take it the customer like it’s intended, and of course he doesn’t throw the coffee at Booker, but it’s a near thing. 

They’re still one employee short so Joe has to continue serving the customers, and Booker takes over for Nile while Nile shifts between filling orders and serving. When Joe can finally take a breath, he glances towards the table near the window and the man with the gorgeous blue eyes has left, replaced by a mother and her frowning teenage daughter.

“Ah,” Nile comes to stand next to him, tray in her hands, and they both spend a minute staring sadly at table 8. “Maybe he’ll come back?”

“Maybe,” Joe says quietly.

He hadn’t even _noticed._ He’d been so busy that the man had gotten up and Joe hadn’t even known. If he had, Joe would have...okay, maybe Joe might not have managed to get his number but at least he could have said goodbye. Or got him to smile again. Or at least asked his _name._ Joe doesn’t even know his name.

He looks away lest the mother notice them, and he offers to take Nile’s tray. “Tell Book I’m cutting his pay,” he says absently, just to distract himself, and pulls the tray gently out of Nile’s hands.

“Alright,” Nile says, noticing the shift in Joe’s mood. She’s probably going to think of some elaborate way to cheer him up, which does actually make Joe feel better. 

He’ll come back. Probably. And then Joe is _definitely_ going to get his number.

***

Joe doesn’t get his number anytime soon. He doesn’t come the next day, or the next, or even the day after the next. For the next week, Joe spends less time in the kitchen baking and more time hovering around the counter trying to look busy while he furtively keeps glancing towards the door every time the bell tinkles.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Andy asks brusquely on a slow Wednesday afternoon, narrowing her eyes and cocking her head at him. “Why do you keep looking at the door?”

“Hmm, what?” Joe asks innocently, twisting towards her so that his hip is leaning against the edge of the counter. “I am doing nothing of the sort.”  
“You’re not even supposed to be here,” she continues, managing to look threatening while holding a plate of cheesecake. “Why are you here?”

“Just…” Joe clears his throat and fiddles around with a salt shaker that seems to be out of place. “Just checking up on you guys. Making sure you’re...on your toes.”

“It’s a boy,” Nile answers for him breezily, moving past them with a tray in her hands. She’s gone before Joe can glare at her, and predictably Andy’s eyes light up at the new piece of information.

“You didn’t _tell_ me,” she says delightedly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There’s nothing to _tell,_ ” Joe grumbles. Andy raises her eyebrows, mouth set in a very knowing smirk, and Joe decides that maybe he _will_ go to the kitchen after all, so he rolls his eyes and tells Andy to get back to work and leaves. He spends the next hour stress baking, or whatever kind of baking it is that one does when they’re waiting for a very handsome customer with kind eyes to return to their shop and is unable to distract oneself.

Joe loses hope pretty quickly, resigning himself to the fact that perhaps he will only see his handsome customer again in his dreams, if he’s lucky, and perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe Allah sent the man to him on that Monday to make up for the hellish-ness of it, and well, if his god can giveth, his god can taketh away. 

So for the first time since that day he’s behind the counter not to so he can throw sneaky glances at the door but to show Book how to correctly plate one of his dishes. Mostly because Book is terrible at plating. 

“And try to wipe the sides of the plate once you’re done.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Joe!” Nile whispers behind him, and Joe shushes her, but she grabs the back of his shirt and _yanks_ him away from Book and towards the cash register, forcibly turning him around. She’s very strong. 

“ _What_ ?” he hisses, but he sees something in the corner of his eye that makes him turn his head and there, right _there,_ at table 8, is his customer, the one-that-he-thought-had-got-away-but-not-really, settling down in his seat. No laptop this time, just a notebook and a pen, but his fingers are smudged and the hair is messy and he’s wearing that truly awful, shapeless navy-blue jacket that he was wearing the last time. Joe has been haunted by it ever since, so he remembers it well.

Andy passes in front of them quickly, mouthing _Is that him_? And Joe can’t answer because he’s definitely staring this time, so Nile probably lets her know.

“I, uh,” he says eloquently, quickly turning away and escaping to the kitchen. The door swings wildly behind him. Joe wonders if the man saw him. He probably felt the way Joe was staring at him like a starving man at a feast. He hurriedly rushes to the cabinet at the end of the room, and grabs for one of the extra aprons. 

When he comes outside still tying it at the back, Andy and Nile turn to him with matching amused expressions.

“You don’t have to serve,” Andy tells him, mouth pursed. “It’s the middle of the week, I think the three of us can handle it.”

“I know,” Joe answers easily, and then dives his hand into Andy’s apron pocket and extracts her notepad.

“Hey, I need that, you-”

“I love you, Andy,” Joe gives her one of his best you-know-you-love-me-too smiles, and then heads towards table eight, which must be Gorgeous and Definitely not Blind’s favourite table. It’s Joe’s favourite table too, because the sunlight streams in through the adjoining window catches just right in the light brown of his hair and turns it a lovely shade of burnished gold.

“Good to see you again,” Joe says, trying to keep his voice light. And casual. Very casual. The man looks up and for a moment he stares at him, and Joe can feel his stomach sinking. _He doesn’t remember,_ he thinks. Which is fine. Normal. Joe doesn’t remember people he’s only met once either. He’s about to open his mouth and apologise and dig his grave deeper by explaining to the man that Joe was the waiter who took his order last time, but the next moment the man’s eyes light up and Joe is graced with that familiar, warm smile.

“Good morning, Joe. And yes, likewise.”

Joe doesn’t know if the man actually thinks so or if he’s just being polite, but he’ll take what he can get. He wants to say something else, he wants to ask him what he’s writing about, he wants to tell him that Joe was waiting for him the whole week and he’d thought he’d never see him again, but he _did_ come back, and Joe wants to say _I’m very happy you’re here._

“Ah, thank you. So, a black coffee for you, right?” Even though Joe is carrying the pad in his hands, he doesn’t write anything down. Really no need to look at anything else besides the man in front of him.

He raises his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. “You remembered my order.”

“Of course,” Joe replies smoothly, “Well, maybe I was hopeful that you would be a repeat customer. Filed it away for later.”

“That is very thoughtful of you,” the man says, almost surprised. From anyone else the words would have sounded sarcastic, but not him. From him it sounds sincere, warm. He honestly thinks Joe is thoughtful. He has no idea how selfish his reasons were. 

“I’m going to continue this trend of thoughtfulness and get you your order,” Joe decides, pointing his pen at him. “And I hope you’re hungry. Anything particular you’re in the mood for?”

The man looks at him and something flashes through his eyes, gone before Joe can recognise it. His lips curve up into something resembling a smirk, but it’s so soft it's more of a teasing smile. “Surprise me.”

Joe feels his stomach flip over. “Noted.”

  
  


“Very reticent, isn’t he,” Booker muses when Joe returns to the counter. 

“He’s just shy,” Nile says defensively, putting a tray together. “I mean, come on, hot barista hitting on you? Anyone would be shy.”

Joe grins. “Aw, you think I’m hot?” 

“Joe isn’t a Barista,” Andy says, picking up on their conversation as she joins them, empty tray under her arm. 

Joe twists towards her, finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

Nile picks up her tray and walks past them. “Good for us. We have exactly one less customer to serve.”

  
  
Joe serves him baklava. Turns out the man has never actually tasted it before, so Joe can tick _surprised_ off his list. It’s satisfying to watch him eat it, although Joe _does_ actually leave him alone to enjoy it in peace. (He stares at him from behind the counter. He’s gotten very good at doing it without being noticed. Well, Andy notices everything, but she doesn’t count..)

If the man notices that Joe serves one customer and one customer only, he doesn’t seem to give any indication of being bothered by it.

When Joe goes back to clear his plate, the man says it was delicious, and Joe can’t help but inform him that he baked it himself. “It was lovely,” he says, so earnestly that Joe’s chest feels very warm

Joe stands there with the empty plate and the empty mug and he wonders how he can politely ask the man to stay for a little while longer. He can’t, though, because he’s already standing up and placing his money on the table and putting his laptop back inside his bag and zipping up his jacket.

He slips the strap of his bag over his shoulder and he looks up at Joe, finally. “I hope you have a good day, Joe.” And his voice is soft, so calming, Joe finds himself wishing he could prolong this conversation indefinitely. 

_Trust me, this was the highlight of my day._ “You too…?” and then he trails off expectantly, because he’s not going to let him just _leave_ without getting his name this time.

“Nicky,” the man offers, smiling slightly. 

_Nicky,_ Joe says in his head. That’s not the name he expected. But predictably, the next second Joe decides that it suits him rather well. “Nicky,” he repeats, nodding, and probably looking at the man more intensely than is warranted. “See you soon.”

With another small smile, the man brushes past Joe and heads for the door. Joe turns around and watches him leave, saying over and over again in his head _Nicky, Nicky, Nicky._ Not that he’s likely to forget it.

***

Thankfully Andy and Nile are busy serving, so they don’t ambush him when he heads to the counter. Booker, however, sneaky bastard that he is, slides up next to him while he’s untying his apron.

“So,” he begins, “Did you get his number?”

“No,” Joe replies, heading inside the kitchen. Book follows him.

“But I thought you liked him?”

“I do,” Joe says quietly, and then he stops to lean against the sink. Booker stands in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and looking very concerned. 

“Then..?”  
Joe lets out a low, rough exhale, throwing up his hands. “I don’t know, it’s...what if he’s just being nice?”

Book’s expression flickers and he tilts his head to the side like he’s considering the credibility of the statement. “Well...that’s entirely possible,” he concedes, and Joe gives a half-hearted laugh. Nile would have said _no, he clearly wants to get into your pants_ and Andy would have told him that he was an idiot. Trust Booker to have an excellent grasp of reality. 

“No, wait, I mean-” he shakes his head, looking a little guilty. Joe raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know that for sure, though.”

Joe shrugs. “Maybe he’s just a very nice man. And if I _do_ ask him for his number, or give any indication of being _interested_ in him, he might get uncomfortable. And leave. And-” Joe swallows. “Not come back again.”

And that’s him being entirely honest with himself. After the first time it had seemed like the most obvious course of action. But since then, Joe has had a lot of time to both pine and think over the matter, and he’s come to the conclusion that’d rather the man keep coming back because he _likes_ the shop and he _likes_ Joe rather than take the risk and scare him off.

“I think you’re being pessimistic.”

Joe gives him a look. “You’re telling me that. _You_.”

Book looks mildly offended. “It’s you we’re talking about, not me.”

Joe heaves a long suffering sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Or I’ve misread everything and he’s just being polite. I don’t even know if he even likes men.” It’s a bit difficult to get that last bit out, because if that’s true, Joe has absolutely zero chance of anything with him. 

Book waves him off. “Nile can find out. She says she has an excellent gaydar.” Joe doesn’t point out that that isn’t really a thing, because Booker will get disappointed and sad. 

He purses his lips. “Don’t think she’ll be able to tell with this man.” In fact, can any of them say _anything_ about him? All Joe knows is his name, that he has kind eyes, and that he has an awful sense of fashion. But Joe wants to _know more._ And he’ll only manage that if he gets to see him again. (and again)

Book throws up his hands in frustration. “Alright, fine. But none of this is certain. You’re not certain.”

“No, I’m not. But I would like him to return. I don’t know see it happening if he thinks I’m going to flirt with him whenever he’s here.”

Booker looks at him for a few seconds, eyes narrowed. “You know what Andy tells me when I’m in a bad place, brother?”

“Put the bottle away?”

Booker rolls his eyes.”No, Joe. She says have a _little faith, Book,_ ” and then he claps a hand over Joe’s shoulder and looks at him very seriously. “And today I am relating that piece of wisdom into you. Have a little faith.”

Joe turns around so his back is pressed up against the sink and he has a semi- clear view of the cafe through the glass bit in the door. Nicky probably hasn’t left yet. He wants to go outside and look at him again. “So you think he’s going to come back?”

Book squeezes his shoulder once before letting go. “Yeah but only if you earn some good karma by helping me wash these dishes.” He presses a bottle of liquid soap into his eyes. 

Joe laughs shortly. “Fuck off,” he says, throwing the bottle back at him. “Fifteen minutes. After that I’m going to check on Nicky and say goodbye before he leaves.”

Booker nods, looking impressed for some reason. He turns on the tap to let the sink fill. “Cute name.”

 _Cute everything,_ in Joe’s very unbiased opinion. “He really is.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe grins, teeth bright and white against the dark of his beard. “I’m very charismatic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should disclose to all of you at this point that I know absolutely nothing about coffee. I do not drink it on a regular basis, and I have made it only ever a handful of times. Did this stop me writing a coffee shop au? Nope. Follow your dreams!

Nicky wakes up with a tongue in his mouth.

Or, at least, to put it more accurately; a tongue that is very determinedly trying to get inside his mouth. He raises a hand and reaches out, feels the familiar warm fur under his hands, and gives an almighty shove. “Get off, Bella,” he slurs, barely able to open his eyes. Bella ceases her efforts and instead lays all her considerable weight right on top of his chest.

Nicky makes a noise of protest but it’s very difficult to move his dog when she’s decided she’s exactly where she wants to be. 

He opens his eyes with a great deal of effort. He feels like he hasn’t slept at all. Which he hasn’t. Last he remembers he was at his desk, caught by one of those rare bursts of writing energy when he writes through the day and then through most of the night, and then keels over in exhaustion. Usually on top of whichever surface is nearest. He can feel something stiff and uncomfortable underneath his head. Groaning, he extracts it. His notebook. It’s covered in his spidery hand, but at this point he can’t make any sense of it. He throws it somewhere in the vicinity of his desk. 

“ _ Per favore,  _ Bella,” Nicky tries again, politely, patting Bella on top of her head. She’s usually more receptive when he slips into Italian. “We’ll go for a walk,” he suggests, and this proves much more efficient. She immediately jumps off his chest and onto the floor. Nicky takes a much needed breath. “ _ Grazie,”  _ he mutters. Lord, his entire body is so  _ stiff.  _ He sits up, joints creaking like he’s an old man. He looks down at himself and sees he’d fallen asleep in his jeans and socks, his jacket crumpled up into a ball underneath his head.

His eyes feel gritty and his mouth is dry and what Nicky really wants at this moment is some  _ coffee.  _

Nicky glances at the clock over his desk. It’s not even seven. So it’s probably not open yet. And then he tells himself to stop pretending like he doesn’t know  _ exactly  _ when it opens and when it closes, because Nicky has been finding himself there for the better part of three weeks. He reflects that perhaps for a broke writer this isn’t the  _ best  _ use of his finances. (Case in point: he’s behind on rent, he needs to buy groceries for the rest of the week, and he needs new socks.)

And then he thinks about Joe, and his bright smile, and his soft cloud of curls, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and the way he sometimes wears a baseball cap backwards and it makes him look very young. Nicky can’t stop fucking thinking about him, and he realises that this may possibly be getting out of hand. 

He makes a valiant attempt to stuff all of his Joe-centric thoughts to the back of his head. Bella, who is standing at the foot of his bed and staring expectantly at him, barks excitedly when she notices Nicky finally getting out of the tangle of covers.

“A walk does sound good,” he muses, shivering when his feet touch the cold floor. “We can...clear our minds.” He stands up and stretches, yawning. 

Bella seems to look at him sceptically, like she doesn’t think  _ her  _ mind needs any more clearing, but she does immediately run off in search of her leash.

No, today Nicky is going to be productive. Nicky is not going to go to the cafe today. Nicky is going to walk his dog, and then he’s going to come home and work on the next few chapters like he’d promised his agent. He could work  _ there,  _ though, couldn’t he- wait, no. No, he can’t. Even though the shop is warm and smells delicious and he gets to look at unarguably the most handsome man he’s ever met, it’s also very difficult to concentrate there. Besides, judging by the weight of Nicky’s wallet, maybe it would be better to save some money instead. 

***  
  
  


Nicky immediately regrets going outside at this hour. It’s cold and wet and the sky is so grey he’s worried it’s going to rain again. But Bella looks so happy and she obviously wanted a walk very badly, so he’s not going to go back home just because he’s freezing.

It certainly  _ is  _ freezing though. He feels a little jealous of Bella’ thick coat.

All the terrible weather does is make him long for more deeply for a really good cup of coffee. And not the instant shit he’s been consuming for the majority of his life, which is infinitely cheaper and more accessible, but the really nice, rich brew that he has at the cafe. Even though Nicky is clearly not in a position to long for the finer things in life. Not until he manages to publish his book, at least. And  _ probably  _ not even then. 

Bella is the one who leads him down the street and into the park. She’s clever enough to stick to the path, though, so Nicky doesn’t mind. Predictably, his thoughts wander. To a very specific memory.

The mornings at the cafe are very busy, Nicky has noticed; but for some reason he always manages to grab the seat by the window. The first time it had purely been chance; but since then he’s realised that from there he has a perfect view of the counter, and he can sheepishly steal glances there when no one’s looking. But no matter how busy the cafe was, Joe would always be there in barely a minute to take his order. And it was always Joe, not the pretty girl with the braids, or the pale, dark haired one who Nicky found slightly terrifying.

Like the most perfect pattern in the history of patterns: Joe would smile at him, Nicky would feel his gut twisting into knots and he’d somehow attempt to smile back at him; and Joe would say something adorable and still somehow sexy like “And how are you this morning, Nicky?”

Nicky’s mind had a way of shutting itself down at those moments so he honestly has no idea what he says in response to that. Hopefully not something entirely too idiotic.

Three days ago Joe had served him something other than black coffee. Nicky usually ordered the black coffee because it was the cheapest thing on the menu and was the best at keeping him awake. But that day Joe had slid over a mug of something creamy and frothy. It smelled heavenly. 

“I didn’t order that,” Nicky had said, thinking that perhaps Joe had made a mistake.

Joe’s hands were crossed over his stomach, fingers clasped over his wrist. He was wearing a pale blue linen shirt underneath his apron, sleeves folded up to the elbow and Nicky had tried to look at anything other than the veins along his forearms. “I thought I’d take the risk and try something new,” he’d said, smiling, and looking a little... _ nervous _ ? But what could  _ Joe  _ possibly have to be nervous about? It was an expression that Nicky had never seen before and he didn’t want Joe to be nervous about anything, at all. “You can send it back if you don’t want it, of course,” he’d added quickly, probably because Nicky had just stared at him in lieu of actually  _ saying  _ something.

“No!” Nicky had blurted, pulling the mug towards himself and then taking a sip. Which was a terrible idea, in hindsight. Wincing, he’d said, “It’s lovely.” Was it? He didn’t know. He’d just burned off the top layer of his tongue and couldn’t taste anything. 

Joe had blinked at him for a moment before bursting out into laughter. Loud and bright and Nicky had never heard anything so lovely. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, after a moment, still grinning. “Most customers blow on it a bit first.”

_ What? _

Nicky made a noise that resembled choking. On his own saliva. He attempted to turn into a cough.

Joe’s eyes had widened, probably realising what had come out of his perfect mouth. “I mean-” he began, and then cleared his throat pointedly. “What I meant to say is that-”

“I’m fine,” Nicky said hurriedly, because Joe saying ‘blow’ was doing very funny things to his head and he wasn’t being able to think straight at this moment. It should have been hilarious. Why wasn’t it hilarious? Joe, who was so smooth with his words, who complimented Nicky so naturally whenever he brought him his order that Nicky would realise it only minutes later; Joe, who had just put the word _blow_ and its various connotations inside Nicky’s head at eight am in the morning.

“Right.” Joe said crisply, “Sorry about that. I will. Be back later.” He’d turned out and left, or fled, more likely. Walked very quickly away, at least. When Nicky had tried his coffee after that, it was pleasantly warm. Not too hot or anything. No need to  _ blow on it  _ either.

After the mortification of that had faded, Nicky found his eyes straying to the counter, as usual. Sometimes Joe would be there at the cash register, smiling at the customers and probably saying nice things to them. Obviously Nicky wasn’t the only one Joe extended his seemingly endless warmth towards, and Nicky had tried not to feel a  _ tiny  _ bit jealous of the pretty blonde girl who was throwing back her head and laughing at something Joe had said.

He’d managed to write exactly one paragraph by the time his coffee was finished. At this point he’d realised that this must have cost more than the usual, but when he looked at the bill that the girl with the braids had left at his table, they hadn’t charged him anything extra.

_ Mistake,  _ he’d thought. So he’d stuffed his laptop inside his bag and walked up to the counter. There was only one person at the counter, a slightly dishevelled looking man. Joe was nowhere to be seen. Nicky even took a quick glance around the room to check if he was possibly serving someone else. He wasn’t. Damn. He’d been hoping to speak to him once before he left. Joe always said goodbye to him. 

“Can I help you?” the man asked, noticing him standing there.

“Oh, yes,” Nicky quickly came closer and held out his receipt. “You did not charge me the correct amount.”

The man- Sebastien, from his nametag- took the receipt from him and frowned at it for a few seconds until he shook his head. “No, this is fine.”

“But-” Nicky began, but at that moment the door behind the counter- which probably led to the kitchen swung open and Joe came out, his arm around the tall, pale woman. He was smiling at her and saying something. Nicky’s insides curled up a little bit at the sight.

“Hey, Joe, come here,” Sebastien said, turning around, gesturing him over, and Joe looked up, his eyes immediately finding Nicky’s.

“Nicky,” he said, his name sliding like honey out of his mouth. His smile had turned a little bashful, which Nicky didn’t find surprising, considering his own cheeks had filled with heat at the memory of their very recent conversation. God, what was  _ wrong  _ with him, he was an adult man. Sebastien immediately moved out of the way so that Joe could occupy the spot at the register.

“Leaving already?”   
Nicky glanced towards the pale woman and she was looking right at him, a very small smile pulling at her mouth. She quickly walked out from behind the counter and then it was just him and Joe, and Sebastien, who had turned around to do something with a carton of milk.

“Um,” Nicky said, and then thrusted his receipt at Joe. Joe raised his eyebrows.

“You did not charge me for the coffee,” he explained.

“No I didn’t,” Joe agreed easily, and moved his hand out of the way. Nicky felt their skin brush for a very brief, very wonderful moment. “No extra charge for you.”   
Nicky shook his head. “No, no. Please, I insist-”

“Nicky,” Joe said, half admonishment and half  _ endearment,  _ almost. Nicky found himself shutting up obediently. “I mean it. No extra charge.”

Nicky wanted to argue a little bit. He wanted to ask Joe why he was doing this, and then he thought that maybe he was reading too much into it and Joe was just being  _ friendly.  _ He wanted to hear Joe say something ridiculous again so he could listen to the sound of his laughter.

Instead he shoved his wallet back inside his pocket. “You are a terrible businessman.”

Joe chuckled softly. “Probably,” he conceded. “But at least I’ve got repeat customers.” and then he winked at him. 

Nicky felt very warm, as he often did when Joe did things like that. “I should be going,” he said quickly, because the longer he stood there the more difficult it would be to leave. 

“Right, of course,” Joe nodded. He could have asked him to stay. Nicky would have. Nicky would have stayed there for as long as Joe wanted. But Joe didn’t say anything of the sort, because Nicky was just a customer that Joe was being nice to, because he was nice to everyone. “I’ll see you again?”

Nicky couldn’t have been imagining that trace of hopefulness, could he? Actually: yes, Nicky had a very overactive imagination, which was great for writing, and not so great for anything else. 

“You will,” he’d promised. “And I’ll remember to blow on it next time.”

Which was  _ not  _ what he had planned to say, at all. It had just slipped out, in apropos of nothing. Nicky wanted the earth to swallow him up. He could pass it off as a flirty joke. Or could he? Because Nicky was awful at flirting. Not that he should be flirting with a man who had not given any indication of wanting to be flirted with. 

Joe was staring at him, his mouth having fallen open a little, and then it curled up into a smirk. It was a smirk that made Nicky’s palms sweat, and made him want to leave right that second and also climb right over the counter and push Joe against the nearest wall.

“You can never be too careful,” Joe replied, without missing a beat. “Goodbye, Nicky.”

Nicky is lost in the memory of Joe’s smirk and the way his eyes had glinted mischievously as he’d said that. There was definitely something in his gaze, right? Or Nicky was just being wishful. The tall woman with the short hair might be his girlfriend. Which is fine. It’s just a ridiculous infatuation anyway. It will fade. Nicky sincerely hopes it will, at least.

His mind is so preoccupied with the possible consequences of an infatuation that may  _ not  _ fade and what, in that case, it would be called instead, that his grip on Bella’s leash turns slack. So when she sees someone running past on the path in front of them, she does what any dog that has refused to be trained will do: she pulls at her leash and runs after them.

“ _ Bella!”  _ Nicky hisses, trying to catch the leash but she’s already off like a shot. He has no choice but to run after her, shouting her name while she turns to the right and follows the poor jogger. Nicky has no idea why she does it; she’ll chase  _ anything  _ whenever the mood strikes. He should have been paying more attention, damn it.

He’s unable to catch her before she barrels into the person, launching all of her weight at him, and Nicky watches in horror as the man- it looks like a man- curses loudly in surprise, stumbles, trips, and falls. Thankfully not face first, but no one likes to land right on their ass on the ground either. Bella, having achieved her goal, sets herself to licking the man’s face.

“I am  _ so  _ sorry,” Nicky immediately says, rushing forward to help the man up. “My dog is insane, I couldn’t-” and then Nicky stops. The hood that had been covering the man’s face slips down, courtesy of Bella’s pawing. 

“ _ Nicky,  _ what a surprise,” Joe looks up at him, delighted. “But I have to say,” he winces as Bella attempts to push her tongue inside his mouth. “I did hope” he tries to back away from her snout but in vain. “That I would meet you outside of the cafe someday. But- yes, you’re a pretty girl aren’t you- this is not exactly what I had in mind.”

  
“How-” Nicky begins, and then he has no idea how to finish that sentence. So instead he holds out his hand for Joe, because Joe is still on the  _ ground  _ and his dog  _ knocked him over  _ and Nicky is having the absolute  _ worst day.  _ He’d thought of that too, actually, meeting Joe somewhere else, where their only interaction didn’t consist of him being waited on. Definitely not like this.

Joe looks up at him, still smiling, and what is it about this man that  _ nothing  _ ever seems to put him off? He takes Nicky’s hand to pull himself up. His palm is cold and Nicky only has a few seconds to appreciate the brief, rough scrape of the calluses on his fingers before he lets go. 

Bella continues to jump around the two of them, mostly Joe.  _ You’re lucky he’s so nice,  _ Nicky thinks.

“She’s very sweet,” Joe says wryly, eyeing her. Nicky continues to look at him, because this is the first time he’s seen him out of his apron and his work clothes, and he looks... _ good.  _ (Not that he doesn’t always look good, but this is  _ different. _ )  __ Nicky can  _ smell  _ him from here, actually, clean sweat and rain. His curls are damp, a little frizzier than usual, sticking to his temples and he’s wearing a sports jacket that is...tighter than his usual array of comfortable-looking shirts. 

Nicky tears his gaze away from the bead of sweat that is making its slow, leisurely way down the side of Joe’s neck. “She is very ill trained,” he says disapprovingly. Bella does an excited little spin and ducks her head underneath Joe’s hand, begging for pats. Nicky watches as Joe obliges her, an indulgent smile on his face as he scratches behind her ears. 

“Ah, don’t be too harsh,” Joe looks up at him, putting his hands on his hips and smirking. “She made it possible for me to see you this morning.”

Nicky swallows. He hadn’t ever imagined what it would be like to have all of Joe’s unfocused attention on him like this, without the distractions of ordering and other customers and paying the bill. Or how it would feel to not have either a counter or a table or even a cash register between the two of them. Granted, Bella is a distraction to rival all of those things, but right now, all Nicky can think about is how easy it would be to just reach forward and touch Joe. Straighten the collar of his sports jacket. 

“By accosting you,” he points out, and Joe laughs, easy and open and familiar. He waves him off. (No rings on his fingers, maybe he takes them off when he works out.)

“It’s alright, I forgive her,” he says, and then tilts his head and gives Nicky a  _ look  _ which somehow makes him look both slightly predatory and endearing at the same time. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“I- yes, of course,” Nicky answers immediately. Did that sound sincere? God he hopes it sounds sincere. Going by Joe’s smug expression, it did. “Do you live nearby?”

What kind of question is that? Why can’t Nicky say something cool and sexy? Now it just sounds like he’s making  _ small talk.  _

But Joe doesn’t seem bothered by it. As usual. “Very nearby, actually,” he tells him, and then bends forward to pick Bella’s leash off the ground. He wraps it around his knuckles in a way that suggests he’s walked a dog before. “Do you want to just stand here, or would you like to walk with me?” He raises an eyebrow at him.

Nicky clears his throat. “Yes. Yes, I would love to.”

“Do you mind if I-” he raises his fist, with the leash wrapped around it and then to Bella, who gives an excited little  _ woof. He wants to walk Bella. How- how adorable is that _ ? He nods quickly.

“Definitely. She probably won’t run off if you are walking to her. As you can see, she has taken quite a liking to you as well.”

Joe grins, teeth bright and white against the dark of his beard. “I’m very charismatic.”

Nicky almost says  _ yes, you are,  _ but stops himself before he can. Joe’s probably going to realise he’s hopelessly smitten before too long, but Nicky can try and protect that bit of information for as long as he can. Instead he just smiles and falls into step with Joe as they start to walk down the path. Bella walks in front of them, as she does, sniffing and smelling and wagging her tail enthusiastically.

“And what about you,” Joe asks, after a few seconds. “Where do you live?”

“Me too. I mean. I live nearby. Also. Like you.” 

Apparently Nicky has forgotten how to communicate like a functioning human being.

“That explains why I’m fortunate enough to see you so often,” Joe says, and then he turns to Nicky with a warm smile that could dissipate the chill of the morning. Nicky laughs, or  _ giggles,  _ more like; he can feel the blush blooming on his cheeks. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and shakes his head, still unable to stifle his own smile. “I didn’t even apologise to you properly. Did I interrupt your run?”

Joe shrugs, jerking on the leash a little bit to pull Bella away from eating something in the grass. “I think,” he says slowly, “I’m starting to get used to happy accidents,” and when he looks at Nicky, Nicky is reminded of deciding to walk into that cafe, bumping into him, the way Joe had turned around with an expression that suggested that he had wanted to punch whoever was behind him- and then a few minutes later, Joe was at his table, with his eye crinkles and his soft voice and Nicky had felt a little guilty because even though he  _ had  _ said sorry at the time, he wasn’t, not really. “So yes, you did. And I’m glad you did. Who knows? It could have been days until I saw you next.”   
“No, it wouldn’t,” Nicky says immediately, a tiny hint of urgency in his voice. Joe’s eyes widen fractionally. “I mean,” he says, trying to tone himself down, “I mean. I would have come. Soon.” He almost feels a little  _ guilty  _ for his stupid promise this morning. Of  _ course  _ he would have ended up going. So what if all his socks had holes in them. He would have seen  _ Joe.  _

And this time  _ Joe  _ is the one who looks embarrassed; the smile that stretches his lips is small and shy and boyish and Nicky, god Nicky has such an incredible urge to slip his hand into his. Feel those callouses against his skin again. 

“I’m happy to hear that, Nicky. It gets pretty boring without you around.” 

Which isn’t quite the romantic declaration one hopes for, but it  _ is  _ something. Not that Nicky wants a romantic declaration. He’s supposed to be getting over this, damn it.

As if on cue, it starts raining. And not the kind of light drizzle that gradually gets heavier over time. No, it’s a heavy downpour within seconds. Enough to make Joe blink rapidly and scowl and say “Fuck,” very loudly which is something Nicky has not heard him say before.

God, Nicky  _ hates  _ getting caught in the rain. He can already feel the cold starting to seep into his clothes. Squinting to keep the water out of his eyes, he says, “We should-” but before he can finish that sentence, Joe’s hand is curling around his wrist and pulling him towards him. For a wild moment, Nicky thinks Joe is about to kiss him, but no, unfortunately- Joe is dragging them both backwards so that they can stand underneath a tree and escape the rain.

Nicky’s heart is thundering under his ribs when Joe lets go of him a minute later. His skin continues to tingle. It’s only mildly better over here, water still drips through the leaves and catches uncomfortably in his hair, cold droplets sliding down the back of his neck, underneath his t-shirt. His jacket isn’t even waterproof. 

Joe is backed up against the trunk of the tree and right about now Nicky suddenly realises how close the two of them are. It is, of course, by necessity, if he wants to avoid getting drenched he can’t really  _ move.  _ Nicky can make out the little droplets of water caught in Joe’s curls, the way his long eyelashes are already damp. There’s a spattering of brown freckles over the bridge of his nose. Nicky has never noticed them before. What a grave oversight. 

Joe leans his head back against the bark, scraping a hand over his face before letting his arm fall to his side. He looks at Nicky from beneath his lashes and grins. Despite the way his clothes have started to stick to his skin and the tips of his fingers have started to go a little numb from the cold, heat starts to blossom in Nicky’s gut.

Right at this moment, however, Bella decides to have a nice  _ shake. _

The two of them instinctively turn away, eyes screwing shut and noses wrinkling as Bella sprays them both with all the excess water lodged in her coat.

“Well,” Joe says, wiping his face again with the back of his hand once she’s finished. “We can’t possibly get any wetter.”   
Oh, they could. They absolutely could. Nicky, for all of his dislike of rain, has a sudden urge to grab Joe and pull them both out from under the tree and directly underneath the sky. And then he could watch Joe get even  _ wetter,  _ could see how his curls look when they’re drenched, and Nicky could-

“Don’t jinx it. She’ll shake again,” Nicky warns him, and Joe gives a short laugh.

“Nicky, Nicky,” he cocks his head and fixes him with his dark gaze, and it’s back again, the warmth in his gut. “I think the universe is trying to tell you something.”   
Nicky hears his own voice only very faintly over the rushing in his ears. “That I should never forget to carry an umbrella?”

Joe’s eyes crinkle at the corners and he purses his lips, shaking his head. Nicky knows he’s trying not to laugh at him, but it doesn’t embarrass him. Joe has such a soft, indulgent air about him that sometimes Nicky feels like he could say anything that came to his head and Joe wouldn’t find it stupid.

“No,” he says, after a moment, voice low and amused. “That you should come with me to the cafe so I can warm you up. You’re turning blue.”

“I’m not,” Nicky counters, and then immediately after that he shivers. Joe smirks, and raises an eyebrow as if to say  _ Told you so.  _

“Come with me,” he tells him, gentler this time,  _ cajoling  _ but he doesn’t really have to, Nicky’s resolve is so weak. He peels himself away from the trunk and takes a step closer. “It’s just a few minutes away. It’ll be very warm, I promise.”

At the last bit his voice drops a bit, or maybe Nicky is imagining it. Why is he even thinking twice about this? Obviously being with Joe in his warm, delicious smelling shop is much, much better than standing here in the pouring rain and slowly growing colder and wetter by the moment. 

“But...Bella…” Nicky says, trailing off. 

_ “Bella, _ ” Joe repeats, smacking his forehead like he’s just remembered her. “Of course I’m a cruel, cold hearted man who would leave this adorable dog out in the rain…” he wiggles his fingers at Bella and she wags her tail, nosing at his palm and licking him wherever she can reach. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nicky,” he continues, “bring your dog.”

And another shiver wracks through Nicky’s body. He has to wrap his arms around himself. “Will it b-be open?”

Joe rolls his eyes and unzips one of the pockets of his jacket, extracting a pair of keys and letting them dangle between his fingers. “I’ll open it.”

And then he looks at Nicky expectantly, as if he’s waiting for him to come up with some other flimsy excuse, but Nicky comes up blank. “If you insist,” he finally says, teeth still clattering. And Joe inclines his head, giving him a slow, private smile.

“Oh, always.”   
  


  
  


Joe is right: it  _ is  _ only a few minutes away. It’s actually closer to the park than Nicky’s own flat, which means that not only is it the more desirable thing to do, it’s also more  _ logical.  _ They wait for a little while longer under the tree until the rain lets up slightly, enough that they can actually walk through it. Nicky takes Bella’s leash this time, he’d rather she not suddenly decide to chase something and pull Joe along with her. One of these days Nicky might end up causing actual physical injury to him. 

Standing under the dripping awning, hands stuffed underneath his armpits to find some semblance of warmth, Nicky watches as Joe fits the key into the door. “W-won’t your boss be upset?” He’s not actually sure who the boss is; he’s only ever seen the four of them, and none of them struck him as being very boss-like. Except the dark-haired woman. 

Joe pauses, key still halfway through the hole. “I, uh,” he begins, and then ducks his head, letting out a quiet little laugh. “Technically, I’m the boss, and I’m far from upset now.”

With that he turns the key and the door swings open. Nicky immediately follows in after him. There’s no one inside yet, the room is dark and empty and not quite as warm as he’d hoped. Bella immediately starts to strain on her leash, eager to explore the rest of the shop. Nicky has to hold the leash tighter. “Just- stay there,” Joe tells him, and Nicky obeys, obediently standing in front of the door, shrugging out of his wet jacket. “I’ll just- turn on the heater.” 

"I thought you were a barista,” Nicky says stupidly.

“I am a man of many roles,” Joe calls out from underneath the counter. Something clicks and the silence of the room is broken by a low, humming noise. He pops back up, smiling and shooting Nicky a wink. “We were short on staff the first day you came. Lucky, right? Come closer, it’s warmer here. Bella looks like she could dry off.”

Nicky does go closer, and seats himself on one of the stools on the other side of the counter. Bella settles down on the floor next to him. He’s never sat here before, which he now realises was a grave mistake. For one thing, the heating vent is right above their heads and the warm air feels lovely on his cold skin, and for another, Joe is right across from him. If Nicky sat here, he wouldn’t have to keep stealing glances. Joe would always be right  _ there. _

“But you are always serving,” Nicky points out.

Joe puts both his hands on the counter, supporting himself on his palms as he leans towards Nicky, another one of his rare, shy smiles pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Ah,” he says, as if Nicky’s just found out something embarrassing. “That’s true. But you’ll notice I only serve you.”   
Nicky narrows his eyes at him, trying to parse out the meaning of his words. He only..oh. That’s why Nicky never sees him serving anyone else. Or why Joe is always the only one to take his order. Why Joe has the  _ time  _ to only take his order. He’ll stand at the register, sure, but otherwise, Nicky has never been brought his black coffee by anyone else. “Oh,” he says, because he can’t think of anything more sophisticated than that. Even though what he wants to say is:  _ But why? Why me, specifically? What’s so special about me _ ?

Joe raises his eyebrows at him, as if to say  _ you’ve got it now.  _ And then he pushes off the counter and starts to unzip his jacket. For a very insane moment Nicky wants to say  _ no, god, no, please keep it on, for the sake of my sanity,  _ but he stops himself just in time.

“It’s covered in mud,” Joe complains, and then slips it off his shoulders. Nicky is very thankful that he’s wearing a t-shirt underneath it, even though the t-shirt is a little damp and oh, Nicky has never noticed his arms before. They’re very...nice. Toned biceps and  _ wow,  _ Nicky should look at something else. 

He swallows hard. “Won’t you start getting customers soon,” he asks, a little hysterically. “I mean. People. Will come here. And the rest of your staff.”

Joe puts his damp sports jacket on the counter and frowns at him like he thinks Nicky is being ridiculous. “It’s the weekend. We open late. The others will stagger in when they feel like it. Relax, Nicky,” he cocks his head. “You can stay here as long as you like. And you’re forgetting it’s my cafe. I can do whatever I want.”

And if something glints in his eyes as he says that, it’s probably Nicky’s imagination. He cups his hand at the back of his neck and asks, “And what is it that you want to do?”

“Fulfill my promise,” Joe answers easily. “I did say I would warm you up.”

Nicky stares at him. Warm him up? How? Nicky is already quite warm. Too warm, actually. His t-shirt is almost entirely dry. What else could Joe do to make him warm? Probably not all the filthy, wildly inappropriate scenarios that rush through his head in the space of five seconds. Nicky shakes his head minutely and scrambles for words. “Um,” he says, very intelligently.

Joe ignores that, thankfully. “So what can I get you? On the house. Whatever you want. And please don’t say black coffee.”

Oh. Right. This is much more plausible. “Nothing,” he says quickly. “Really, you don’t have to.”

Joe rolls his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course I don’t have to. I don’t give away free coffee to  _ every _ man who runs me down with his dog.”

Nicky flushes. “I really am sorry about that-” he starts, but Joe just laughs, waving him off. 

“I’m  _ kidding, _ ” he reassures him. “Come on, tell me. What are you in the mood for this morning, Nicky?”

“I have no idea,” he answers helplessly, honestly. Even if Nicky knew all the variations of a standard coffee order, he can barely think of anything interesting right now. Joe takes pity on him.

“Alright. I think- if I recall correctly,” he backs away from the counter, narrowing his eyes at him almost comically,“you like to be surprised. What do you say? Chef’s choice?”

God he’s  _ adorable _ . Nicky can only smile at him like a smitten idiot. “Sounds perfect.”

  
  
  


Joe keeps talking to him while he makes his order. He makes it so  _ easy,  _ even for Nicky, who is awkward and shy at the best of times and not the best when it comes to making conversation. He would have been content to just watch Joe, the fluid movement of his fingers as he worked, the little frown between his brows as he concentrated. But Joe asks him questions about where he works and how did he come up with the name  _ Bella  _ and and Nicky finds himself answering them without a thought, and Joe offers information about  _ himself,  _ like, “I don’t normally make the coffee, Nile is the best at the best at this. I do bake most of the stuff, though. Booker helps. Uh-that’s Sebastian. The other guy.”

“You are a very good baker,” Nicky agrees, remembering the baklava that Joe loved to serve him. His mouth waters a little bit. 

Joe grins, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

Nicky is a good cook, but he’s never been very good with desserts, something his mother thought was a great failing on his part. Maybe he could ask Joe to teach him.

“Here,” Joe says, finally sliding a mug in front of him. He brings out a can of whipped cream and sprays it on top with relish. “Didn’t have time to make that fresh. I don’t particularly like the stuff that comes from a can. Next time.”

“That’s fine,” Nicky promises, and oh  _ god,  _ that looks so good, and it’s so lovely and warm, he almost groans when he just puts his  _ hands  _ around the porcelain. “But this is very backward.”

Joe raises a dark eyebrow, leaning over the counter with his forearms on top. It brings him very close to Nicky. “How so?”

“I should be the one buying you coffee,” he brings the mug to his mouth and takes a  _ very  _ careful sip. Nicky meets his gaze over the rim of the cup, and Joe frowns at him like he doesn’t quite catch his drift.  _ Oh,  _ that’s delicious, Nicky suddenly thinks, putting the mug down. He licks a bit of whipped cream off his upper lip. “Since I’m the one who knocked you over. Well, indirectly. This is very good.”

Joe blinks at him and clears his throat. “Oh, well-” he shrugs, and then, “Thanks. But, if you do want to make it up to me,” he tips his head to the side and smirks, “You could give me your number and we’ll call it even.”

Nicky, in the process of taking another sip, accidentally gulps down half of his coffee and thinks he might have blistered his entire throat. Eyes watering, he brings the mug away from his mouth. “My number?”

He didn’t hear him correctly. Did he hear him correctly? What could Joe possibly want with his number? And how would giving him his number make up for anything? Unless he-

“Yeah,” Joe answers flippantly, leaning away from the counter and from Nicky. He clears his throat again, running a hand through his curls in a distracted way, eyes fixed on some spot behind Nicky’s shoulder. He’s  _ nervous.  _ Nicky has never been more confused in his life. “Sometimes we have...half price off. Or something. You know. So I could let you know. If you wanted.”

Nicky  _ doesn’t  _ know. He frowns at Joe. “Of course you can have my number,” he says, and relief flickers across Joe’s face. Even if Joe just wants to call him because they’re having a sale, Nicky doesn’t really care. Joe reaches into his pocket and brings out his phone. Unlocks it and types something in before holding it out for Nicky. “Here.”

Nicky takes the phone from his hand and stares down at the screen. It’s open to his contact list. He taps in his number and he thinks for a moment before adding in his name. After a moment of dithering, he does it and hands it back to him. 

Joe gives him one of his patent sunny smiles and sends a cursory look at the screen, but then he pauses. He frowns and then looks back at him. “Nicolo? Is that…” 

“That’s my real name,” Nicky answers quickly, the back of his neck feeling very warm and he doesn’t know why. It’s just his  _ name.  _ “I mean. Nicky is also my name. Everyone calls me that. But. Nicolo is the name I was given.” 

Joe’s mouth forms a little  _ oh  _ of surprise and he looks down at his mobile screen and then back up at him, and the smile is back on my face. Softer this time, with an edge of fondness that makes Nicky want to curl his hands into his t-shirt and pull him closer. “It’s lovely,” Joe tells him, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Nicolo,” he repeats, slowly. “Am I pronouncing it right?”

The emphasis is on the wrong syllable, actually. Nicky corrects him. “ _ Nicolo. _ ”

“Nicolo,” Joe says, correctly this time, and Nicky feels very proud of him. Most people don’t ask. They just say his name however they want and Nicky doesn’t bother correcting them because it seems like a useless effort. But he  _ wants  _ to hear the sound of his name in Joe’s mouth. And he wants him to say it  _ right.  _ He wonders if  _ Joe  _ is short for something too. He wants to ask, but maybe that might be too personal of a question?

“You can still call me Nicky, though,” he adds. 

Joe purses his lips and seems to be thinking that through. He narrows his eyes, cocking his hip against the large cooler to his right. “You said everyone calls you Nicky.”

Nicky nods.

“How about Nico?” He asks it with a trace of hesitation, like he’s afraid Nicky will be offended by the further shortening of his name. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Nicolo, it’s an absolutely lovely name-”

“I am not opposed to that,” Nicky interrupts him, and Joe stops talking and smiles, small and shy. 

“I actually have-” he begins, stepping closer to him, and Nicky has a feeling he’s about to say something important, but right at the moment he hears the tinny tinkling of the bell, and cold air rushes into the room. A flash of irritation crosses Joe’s face the same time he closes his mouth- the first time he’s seen that particular expression, actually, and he raises his eyes to a spot behind Nicky, looking resigned. 

Nicky turns around to see who’s stepped in- not another customer, surely, it’s not open yet- and sees the pretty girl with the braids standing there, hands in her pockets and smiling awkwardly at the two of them. “Good morning,” she says, and then, “Oh my  _ god,  _ is that a dog?” Bella, who so far had taken the opportunity to sneak a quick nap, is now wide awake and predictably excited, rushing towards Nile, tail wagging incessantly. The girl drops to her knees and immediately starts to shower Bella with affection and kisses.

“Good morning, Nile,” Joe replies dryly. Nicky turns back towards Joe. Their eyes meet, Joe looking apologetic and a little annoyed but trying to cover it up. 

“She’s very punctual,” he explains to Nicky. 

“Must be a very good employee.”

“The best,” Joe allows, begrudgingly, and finally steps out from behind the counter. He stands next to Nicky, leaning the small of his back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Nicky spins around and the two of them stare at the girl for a few seconds. Bella is now on her back, legs up in the air while she scratches her belly.

“Did I interrupt the two of you,” the girl finally asks, looking up at them. Nicky glances towards Joe, who just lets out a brief chuckle and shakes his head. He’s too nice for his own good. Nicky wants to say  _ yes, actually,  _ but she looks so apologetic and earnest that he quickly kicks the uncharitable thought away. 

“Hi,” she says to Nicky, standing up. “You’re Joe’s favourite customer.” 

Joe lets out a loud, irritated exhale and Nicky feels his entire face heat up. “I- um, thank you,” he stammers. 

“Nicky,” Joe says loudly, twisting towards him and clapping a hand on his shoulder.  _ Oh.  _ “This is Nile,” he gestures towards her with his other hand. “Nile, this is Nicky. We met this morning. Got caught in the rain. And then we came here to dry off.”

Nile raises her eyebrows, and looks like she wants to say something, but instead she just steps closer to Nicky and holds out her hand. “Hi, Nicky. We’ve never been formally introduced.”

“Hello,” Nicky says faintly, but as politely as possible. He takes her hand. She smiles at him. “I’ll just leave the two of you alone, then.” And with that she quickly walks around and escapes into the kitchen.

Joe sighs, letting go of his shoulder, taking the warmth of his hand with him. “Sorry about that. Nile is very...exuberant.”

Nicky thinks Nile is a perfectly lovely person, and he wants to follow her into the kitchen and ask her if he really is Joe’s favourite customer. For obvious reasons he cannot ask this of Joe. “I didn’t mind,” he tells him. 

Well, he does mind a  _ little.  _ Whatever Nicky had felt blooming between the two of them in the warm confines of the room was dissipating a little bit, curling up into smoke and blowing away. Not that he feels awkward, he finds that it’s very difficult to not feel comfortable with Joe, but they  _ had  _ been interrupted and there was so much more Nicky had wanted to say, and  _ ask,  _ and now he doesn’t know if he can continue. Maybe he should just leave. Everything was so perfect till now, Nicky doesn’t want to ruin it by stretching it out indefinitely. Besides, the two of them aren’t alone anymore. 

“I think that there’s very little you  _ do  _ mind,” Joe says, a little disapprovingly, but his eyes are warm and his mouth is set in an indulgent curve. 

Nicky can’t stay here for any longer. There’s something about being the object of Joe’s attention and his affectionate smiles that make him want to do stupid things. Like push him up against the counter and kiss him.  _ Oh,  _ that came out of nowhere. 

“I should go,” he says, words rushing out. He stands up before he can talk himself out of it, kicking the stool behind him. “I...uh. I have work.” 

Joe blinks at him, face falling a bit, and right, now Nicky wants to hit himself. “And I need to feed Bella,” he adds, little lamely. But he  _ has  _ to go, doesn’t he? He can’t stay here forever. Even though he wants to. 

“Hmm, she must be hungry by now,” Joe agrees. He sighs, turning around to face him, hands in his pockets, dark gaze meeting his. “Am I going to see you again?” 

Nicky feels his lips part and he’s suddenly lost, can’t take his eyes off of Joe. He’s already committed every feature of his face to memory, of course; the straight line of his nose, the pink curve of his mouth, his dark eyebrows, his eyes and the way he has of looking at Nicky, like there’s nothing else in the room. 

“You’ll see me again,” he promises, his voice a little rough. Joe smiles widely. That. Nicky wants to keep doing that. Making him smile. Not that it’s difficult; he’s realised by now that Joe smiles easily and often. Still, the ones that are because of  _ him,  _ he likes those ones the best. “And, um. Thank you. For today. It was...very nice.” 

(Inadequate, stupid, underwhelming, isn’t Nicky supposed to be good with words? He’s a writer, for God’s sake)

“My pleasure, Nico,” Joe says, eyes alight, all charm. Bella, having realised that they’re leaving, attempts to say goodbye to Joe by jumping on him, paws on his chest. Joe laughs, scratches her head. “And I hope I’ll see  _ you  _ again as well, pretty girl.”

Bella licks his neck and then lets go of him. Nicky takes her leash in his hand. “Goodbye, Joe,” he says, and right, leave,  _ now,  _ or else he’ll just be standing here forever, saying goodbye repeatedly.

Joe just smiles and raises his hand in a little wave. Nicky turns around and makes his escape, Bella trotting along with him, hating that he has to step out into the cold and wet and rain. But he does have work, and Bella is actually going to hate him if she doesn’t get her breakfast.

_ Damn it,  _ he suddenly thinks, once he’s outside. He gave Joe his number, but he hadn’t thought to ask him for his. And now he has to  _ wait  _ until he decides to call him. 

“I am an idiot,” he says, out loud. Bella looks up at him, her expression very clear to Nicky at this point.  _ Yes,  _ she’s saying.  _ Yes, you are. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews keep me going!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I swear to God, Joe,” Nile says, her voice vaguely threatening. She looks up at him, wagging a viscous finger. “If the two of you aren’t fucking each other’s brains out by the end of the night, I’m quitting.”  
> Booker wolf whistles and Joe feels the back of his neck and his ears grow very, very warm. “That seems a little over the top.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to cook. What did Nicky make for Joe? I have no idea. Use your imagination. All I know is that he used eggs.

“Alright. Q wants to watch _Die Hard_ , Nile has voted for _Inside Out_ , and Book thinks we would all enjoy this French film that none of us have heard of.” Joe puts the remote down after flicking through all of their available options and then looks at the three of them expectantly; Book stretched out in the armchair and Andy and Quynh wrapped around each other very comfortably in the corner of his ancient sofa. 

“I resent that tone, Yusuf,” Booker announces, putting down his beer with a _thump._ “Should I remind everyone that we have, _collectively,_ as a group, watched _Die Hard_ four times?”

“Fight me for it,” Quynh suggests from Andy’s lap, dark eyes flashing and lips curling into a mischievous smile. Predictably, Book blanches and mutters something under his breath and goes back to drinking his beer. Joe can sympathise. Quynh doesn’t weigh more than ninety pounds but she’s undoubtedly the most dangerous of them all in a fight. Second only to Andy, if at all.

Joe sighs, sinking into the other end of the sofa. He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve got to agree with Book on this one.” 

Quynh rolls her eyes and calls him _pathetic_ the same time Book raises his beer to him and says, “Thank you!”

“But-” he continues, and Book groans, “you never let us turn on the subtitles-”

“You’ll _never_ appreciate a foreign film that way-”

“So I’m vetoing your obscure arthouse cinema,” he decides, with a tone of finality. Joe has to make some tough decisions here. He is, after all, hosting Movie Night. “Andy, you’re breaking the tie.”

Andy doesn’t even look up from the book she’s reading. “Die Hard,” she says, almost lazily, and Quynh squeals with delight and kisses her on the cheek. 

“Obviously,” Booker exhales, giving the two of them a disgusted look.

“Obviously,” Joe has to agree. “Well, that’s settled. _Die Hard_ it is.”

Booker curses colourfully in French. “Fucking tragedy. Five times. And I don’t even _like_ Bruce Willis.”

“I bet Nicky would have some better suggestions,” Nile says, finally coming out of his kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. Joe decides to not look at her, and focuses all of his attention to the very important act of selecting _Die Hard_ from their list. “I told you, you should have invited him.” She settles down on the carpet, right next to Joe’s feet, back against the sofa. “Bet you wouldn’t have any problems with an _Italian_ film, Joe.”

Joe is a fully grown adult man, he shouldn’t be feeling his entire face warm up at the mere _mention_ of a name. Still. It’s happening. He presses the _play_ button.

“You guys are going out?” Booker asks. Joe glances towards him to glare, and sees that Booker is now sitting up, interested in the proceedings of the evening for the first time. “Finally.”

“No, we’re not,” he answers irritably. “Why don’t we all just watch the movie?”

Nile passes the bowl of popcorn to Booker. “Joe’s been timing his runs so that he keeps bumping into him at the park.” Book whistles, impressed, and Joe wants to throw something at the two of them. The remote seems like a good idea. And the heavy book that Andy is engrossed in. 

“That makes me sound like a _stalker,_ ” he complains. Joe is a lot of things, but he _definitely_ isn’t creepy. Or at least he hopes so. He’s suddenly very worried. Maybe he’s one of those men who think they’re not being creepy but are actually being creepy with absolute alacrity. Should he apologise to Nicky? Fuck.

“Okay,” Nile concedes, looking up at him. “Joe has been _accidentally_ timing his runs so that he _accidentally_ sees Nicky at the park the same time he’s there. It’s not on purpose, at all.” And then she snickers. “Come on, you can’t deny _that._ ”

Joe rolls his eyes. “She’s making it sound worse than it is.” 

The first time had been entirely an accident- a very fortunate one, obviously. And well. Joe would be lying if he said he hadn’t at least _attempted_ to see if he could make it happen again. That day he’d left later than usual, so all he did was leave at that time again, and go by _that_ specific route. It had paid off; he’d met Nicky again. Bella had run towards him as soon as she noticed him, ripping out of Nicky’s grasp-but this time Joe was prepared and he hadn’t gone sprawling in the ground when she tried to knock him over. It was much more dignified. He’d promised himself that if Nicky looked even the _slightest_ bit uncomfortable at seeing him again, he’d say goodbye and leave immediately.

But, and this wasn’t wishful thinking, he’d tried to be very objective about it- Nicky had genuinely seemed _happy._ He’d smiled and said, “Good morning, Joe,” in that _way_ of his, and Joe had asked him if he wanted to walk with him for a while, and Nicky had said _yes._

It was perfect. Joe didn’t want to seem forceful so he didn’t ask him if he wanted to come to the cafe but even _walking_ with Nicky was better than he could have imagined. Joe kept a respectful distance between the two of them even though he _really_ wanted to hold his hand, yes, like a teenager, but the heart wants what it wants. Nicky didn’t talk much on his own, but when Joe asked him questions he answered freely. He didn’t hesitate or seem cautious and Joe even managed to make him _laugh_ a few times. What could possibly be better than that?

(Kissing him, his brain had supplied unhelpfully. Sometimes all he could think about when Nicky was speaking to him was bridging the distance between the two of them and pressing their lips together. Stopping him mid-sentence and tasting him instead.)

So they met a few times a week. And Joe texted him. Nicky would swing between replying immediately and replying between long intervals. He said it was because his mind wandered, fixating on some idea he would use for his book, and he’d have to write it down right _then_ or he would forget. Nicky was always very apologetic about this, but Joe didn’t mind. He was hoping that one day Nicky would let him read what he wrote. Joe wanted to know everything about him, everything that Nicky would willingly offer about himself.

And because Nile had told him that people loved it when you took an interest in their dogs, Joe had started carrying around a packet of dog treats for almost a week until he met Nicky again. 

“For Bella,” he’d said, handing it to Nicky. 

Nicky had laughed. “She will start worshipping you now, any day,” he’d told him, after sprinkling out a few treats into his hand and holding them out to Bella. Joe had felt a little guilty about bribing Bella just so that he could worm his way into Nicky’s heart, so the next day he’d brought a frisbee and asked Nicky if they could play with her. 

He hadn’t played with a dog in years; he’d had one as a child, and he’d loved him. So playing with Bella hadn’t quite been the ‘making it up to her’ as he’d thought; but more of an added bonus; she was adorable, and it made Nicky _happy._ And making Nicky happy was Joe’s ultimate objective.

But, they weren’t really _going out_ in the truest sense of the term. Joe _had_ entertained the idea of inviting him here, but he was selfish; if they _were_ going to spend any time together he wanted Nicky all to himself before he shared him with his friends- the problem being that he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to make that happen. 

“Untrue,” Nile shouts, dramatically. “I’m telling it _exactly_ like it is.”

Joe raises the volume of the movie. The others take the hint and are quiet- for at _least_ a minute. 

“Hang on,” Quynh finally says. “So Joe likes this guy? Nicky? And he hasn’t asked him out yet?”

Nile pops open her beer. “Nope.”

Quynh makes an intrigued noise. She stretches out her leg and pokes him in the thigh with her foot. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

Joe stares so hard at Bruce Willis’ face on the screen that he’s quite sure he’s going to be dreaming of him tonight. “I thought you liked this movie. Why don’t you watch it?”

“Wait, now even I’m confused,” Andy finally involves herself in the discussion. “You’ve been turning up late for days. I thought you two _were_ dating. What have you been _doing_ all this time, then?”

“Joe’s been _wooing_ him. Like a proper gentleman,” Book offers with a smirk, and Joe plunges his hand into the popcorn bowl and throws some at him. Book just laughs, dusting bits of cheese powder off his shirt. “It’s all very Victorian.”

“You have his number, don’t you? I know you do, you’ve been texting him _constantly._ ” Nile demands. None of them seem to be even the slightest interested in Die Hard anymore. They’re all looking at him expectantly. Joe wants to slink into the sofa, right underneath the cushions, and never emerge again. 

“Yes, I have his number,” he says brusquely. 

"Just _texting_?” Quynh sounds appalled. “What are you, thirteen? This is depressing as fuck. Andy, do something.” 

Joe turns to glare at the two of them, but Andy is intimidated by absolutely nothing and no one. Except Q. “Joe, my best friend. My brother. One of the two men that I can tolerate,” she claps a hand over his shoulder and fixes him with her blue-eyed gaze, somber and solemn. “ _Call_ him. Ask him out. Like a _normal human being._ ”

Joe groans and throws out his hands. “I don’t know if he wants to be asked out!” He buries them in his hair, leaning back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “What if I chase him away?” Ah yes. Nothing like incessant probing that really makes a man reveal his deepest fears. 

Andy snorts. “I _think_ that you turning up conveniently whenever he’s at the park would have been enough to chase him away, if he _really_ wasn’t interested.”

Which, again, makes Joe rethink his grand plan of ‘accidentally’ running into him. When other people say it like that it _does_ sound decidedly creepy. 

Someone drops something into his lap. Joe drops his head to see Nile standing in front of him, hands on her hips, looking very determined. She gestures to his phone which is now warming his crotch. “Call him,” she orders him. “Take him to dinner. _Not_ the cafe. Somewhere fancy.”

Joe stares at her, and then starts panicking when he realises what’s happening. “No,” he says immediately, and the rest of them all groan. “I can’t just-”

“Ask him out or _I_ will,” Booker threatens, and Joe turns to him with what he hopes is a suitably betrayed expression. Yes, Booker could _absolutely_ steal Nicky away. No man needs both excellent hair _and_ the ability to speak French. 

Joe makes another attempt to squirm out of this. He tries to sit up, saying, “Who wants pizza? It’s on me,” but Nile pushes him back, hands on his shoulders, looking grim. 

Oh, God, he realises, looking around the room at the lot of them. They’re not going to let this go. They’re going to _ensure_ that he calls Nicky, right at this moment. Joe has known them for years. He knows what that steely glint in Quynh’s eyes means. It means she’s going to sit on him if she has to.

He groans once more, loudly. “Fine. _Fine._ This is very unfair, I hope all of you know that.”  
Nile, satisfied, stands back. Booker crosses one leg over another and settles into his armchair like he’s about to watch his ridiculous french movie. Joe sighs, and picks up the phone. He hasn’t felt this nervous about asking someone out since he was...twelve, probably. His palms are _sweating._ “I feel ill,” he tells all of them, but to no avail. Nile has absolutely no sympathy in her eyes. 

“Alright. Fine. If I vomit on Quynh, Andy isn’t allowed to murder me,” he mutters, flicking through his contact list until he finds _Nicolo._ He taps on it and brings it to his ear. 

_I need to stand up for this,_ he thinks, finding it impossible to just _sit_ there and wait while it rings. He stands, Nile obediently moves out of the way but stays very close to him. “ _Go away,_ ” he hisses at her, trying to bat her away. She raises her hands, eyebrows raised and steps back. He turns away from the four of them, but can feel them staring holes into his back. _If I didn’t love all of you, I would hate you all so much,_ he thinks. 

“Joe?”

He picked up. Oh. Oh, fuck. Now would be an excellent time to start talking.

“Nico,” he says, brightly. “Hi. How are you doing?” Okay so far. People begin casual conversations like this, right? This is a completely normal way to talk to someone? He doesn’t sound like an insurance agent, right? Joe doesn’t know why he’s asking himself. He obviously knows nothing. 

“I’m fine,” Nicky says, sounding a little breathless. Why does he sound breathless? “Um. I’m good, I mean. Both.”

Joe frowns for a second before continuing. He can’t let there be a lull for too long or else he’s going to lose his nerve. “Great, that’s great. Listen- sorry for calling you like this, by the way. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” Like a date. With another person. Maybe that’s why he’s breathless. The random thought sends a very bitter, very intense wave of jealousy right down to the pit of his stomach. Nope. Definitely not a good idea to think about that. 

“No, no! Not at all. I’m very glad you called, actually. What did you need?”

Joe feels like he could melt. God, it’s barely been a few days since he’s seen him last but he misses him. Joe wishes they were actually face to face and not talking over the phone. He can just picture Nicky, maybe hunched over his laptop, Bella’s head in his lap, his messy hair, the dark circles he has from staying up late and writing. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he goes on. “I was just wondering if you were free this weekend. And if you were, if you would like to-“ Joe pauses. He didn’t think this part through. He’s asking Nicky out! He’s asking Nicky out and he didn’t even come up with something special before he called him. What is he even going to do? Fuck. Fuck. Possible ideas float through his mind at lightning speed: 

~~Go out to dinner with me?~~

~~Go for a movie with me?~~

~~Let me take you on a date~~

And the variety of options clearly does something horrible to his brain because Joe loses the thread entirely. -“ come to the cafe? We’re having an open mic night. You might like it. It’ll be fun. Well, I hope it will. It’ll definitely be fun with you there.”

Wait- _what_ ? Where had that come from? Why would he say that? How does he _come up_ with this stuff? And never mind that, _why_ would Nicky agree to this. He screws his eyes shut, gripped with a terrible urge to bang his head against the wall. _Please say yes anyway, Nico._

“I would love to,” Nicky answers, sounding a little surprised. “Yes, absolutely.”

Joe almost drops to his knees in relief. “Thank you, Nico. I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

_Because of my very personal interest in you._

“I’m sure I will.” Joe can almost hear the smile in his voice. He wants to be there, next to him, so badly, just so that he can see it. 

“Right. Great. I’ll-uh- leave you to it, then.” 

“Yes. Um- not that you are bothering me, at all.”

Joe laughs, and he feels sixteen years old again, twirling a phone cord between his fingers and giggling into the receiver. What can he say? Nicky makes him giddy. “I know that. But, ah, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely. Goodbye, Joe.”

“Bye, Nico.”

He cuts the call and slips the phone into his pocket, unable to stop the stupid smile from stretching across his face. He turns around to look at the four of them. Nile is still standing a few inches away from him, Quynh perched on Andy’s lap like a gargoyle. They all look somewhere between disgusted and horrified. Joe’s smile drops. “What?”

“What do you mean _what,_ ” Nile growls, advancing on him. Joe takes a step back, legitimately scared. “What the hell was that?” 

He frowns at her. “What? I- oh.” He makes a _hmm_ sound, pursing his lips. “I didn’t ask him out, did I?” Okay, he’ll admit that it didn’t go _entirely_ to plan, but he didn’t make a complete fool of himself, either. Nile doesn’t seem to see it that way. She scowls at him. Joe puts his hands out in front of himself for protection. Nile can get surprisingly violent. “I panicked, alright!”

“That was painful to watch,” Quynh interjects, looking at him pityingly. “What were you thinking?”

Booker shakes his head sadly. “He’s never had to apply any effort before. This was his first time. Clearly it broke him.”

Joe is too worried to tackle Booker to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair, chewing his lip. Did he really fuck it up that badly? Should he cancel it? Think of something else? Obviously Nicky deserves the best. Maybe this isn’t good enough. Maybe-

“Shit, Joe, it’s alright,” Nile says, immediately softening her tone when she notices him on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She wraps an arm around his shoulder and leads him to the sofa. “It’s really not that bad. We’re just kidding. Here, sit.” She pushes him down onto the sofa. And then she hands him her beer. Joe takes a half hearted sip. “You know what, I think he likes you too much to even care.”

“Okay, now that all of you are done terrifying him,” Andy says, sitting forward. “I’m going to point out that you missed the most relevant detail.”

A new wave of panic washes over Joe. He turns to her in alarm. “Which is?”

Andy narrows her eyes at him. “We have to put together an open mic night now, you idiot.”

“Oh fuck,” Booker groans, covering his face with a hand. “You’re right. We haven’t had one in _months._ The last one was a nightmare. Do you remember, Nile?”

“Oh yeah,” Nile sinks to the ground, drawing her knees to her chest. “We finally decided to use the liquor license that Joe was sitting on.”

“Well, no one would come if you weren’t solving alcohol,” Quynh reminded them.

“I run a _coffee shop,_ not a bar,” Joe says.

“Well, now we have to do it again,” Andy mutters, leaning back. “So. Welcome to Hell, everyone. You’re lucky he’s fucking adorable, Joe, I would _not_ do this for anyone else.”

  
“I really have to meet this guy,” Quynh muses.

“I swear to God, Joe,” Nile says, her voice vaguely threatening. She looks up at him, wagging a viscous finger. “If the two of you aren’t fucking each other’s brains out by the end of the night, I’m quitting.”  
Booker wolf whistles and Joe feels the back of his neck and his ears grow very, very warm. “That seems a little over the top.”

Nile takes a deep breath. “I’m taking a _very_ long paid vacation,” she amends.

Joe loves them. He really does. Even though all of them probably feel like shooting him right now. He clinks his beer bottle with hers. “Deal.”

“The things you do for your little brother,” Andy sighs.

***

He’s talking to someone else. A woman, that is. A very _good looking_ woman. The two of them are sitting next to each other on the park bench, Bella’s leash wrapped around Nicky’s hand. Joe can see that he has two options here; he can just keep walking towards them and intrude loudly and pointedly upon whatever is going on over there, or he can casually stand behind this tree over here and wait until the woman leaves- not hiding. Just conveniently standing where he can’t be seen. A third, unpleasant option is to just walk away and come back later. Well fuck _that._

Joe is pretty sure that Nicky wanted to see him today, so the presence of this woman is confusing him. He tries not to look at them while he waits patiently behind the tree. She says something that makes Nicky laugh, that adorable, dorky laugh where he shakes his shoulders and ducks his head. Joe doesn’t know who she is but decides that he doesn’t like her already. Which is terrible of him, he knows. He wishes she would just _go away._ He would be much more charitable to her inside his head if he didn’t have to look at her touching Nicky’s shoulder. 

He brings out his phone and scrolls through Twitter aimlessly, but he can’t stop watching them from the corner of his eye. 

Thankfully, the whole ordeal doesn’t last very long. She stands up; so does Nicky. Joe puts his phone back into his pocket. She leans forward and embraces him, which Joe doesn’t want to see at all. What kind of hug is that, anyway? Nicky only has one arm around her. If she was his girlfriend, they would definitely kiss each other goodbye, right? Which they don’t. Joe is very thankful for that. She pats Bella once, (Bella licks her hand enthusiastically. Traitor.) after which she walks off in the other direction. Right. Good. What would be an appropriate interval of time for Joe to wait until he makes his appearance, just so that it doesn’t look like he was _definitely_ somewhere waiting? He decides ten seconds should be enough. 

Not _ideal,_ of course. But when Nicky turns around and sees him and breaks into a smile, he doesn’t really care. Bella tries to break free from her leash and rush towards him, which Joe, as usual, finds quite flattering.

“Hey,” he says, once he reaches him. Nicky loosens Bella’s leash a little so she can have her fill of sniffing between his legs. He scratches her behind her ears by way of greeting. 

“Hello,” Nicky replies, and it’s not fair, Joe thinks, that anybody who sleeps as little as Nicky does can look that good at seven am in the morning. Wearing _that_ jacket. “Good run?”

Joe chuckles. Maybe he shouldn’t tell him that he was done with his run an hour ago, because he wanted to go home and take a shower before he met Nicky. He’d realised that it was possibly quite rude of him to hang out with him only when he was covered with a thin layer of drying sweat.

“Honestly, Nico, it’s what comes _after_ the run that I find much more pleasant.” He gestures towards him. _Too much,_ he thinks, wanting to take that back. But Nicky just laughs indulgently and blushes, just a little bit. “I was here sooner, actually,” Joe continues, deciding to sit down on the bench. He crosses his legs, ankle over knee, mostly just to keep Bella away from his crotch.

Nicky sits down next to him. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to interrupt your- um-” Joe waves his hand about vaguely. Nicky frowns at him for a moment before realisation flickers over his face and he makes a little _ah_ sound. 

“You mean my agent!” Nicky shakes his head. “I could have introduced the two of you. She’s very nice.”  
  


Joe rests his back against the bench, throwing an arm out over the edge. It’s _almost_ like putting an arm over Nicky’s shoulder. “Agent?”

Nicky nods quickly. “Her name is Nisha. She helped me publish my last book. She’s helping me again with the current one. I am very lucky to have her. We’ve gotten very close over the years.”

Joe feels something heavy and leaden drop into the pit of his stomach. “Really,” he says, and it’s very difficult to say that non-sarcastically. Really well done, Joe, make him guilty for having a relationship. 

Nicky stares at him for a second, probably picking up on Joe’s dubious tone. “She’s like an older sister,” he adds, slowly, deliberately. Meaningfully, almost. Oh. _Oh._ “She’s married, actually. Two kids. I’ve met them. Twins.”

Joe feels almost dizzy with relief. He’s such an idiot. Suddenly he feels extremely fond of Nisha, Nicky’s Married Agent With Twins. He wishes her all the best things in life. A sparkling career, Ivy League colleges for her Twins. A very long and happy marriage. She better be doing an _excellent_ job with Nicky’s book.

“Ah,” Joe smiles, at peace with the world once again. “She sounds lovely. You’re right. I should have met her. Next time.”

Nicky looks pleased, slightly smug. If it really means that much to him, Joe will befriend his agent. Honestly, there’s very little he _wouldn’t_ do for Nicky.

“Next time,” Nicky agrees. After a moment of silence, he asks, “Have you had any breakfast?”

Both he and Bella perk up at the mention of breakfast. Although Joe is probably slightly more confused at the question. “No,” he answers, wondering if the banana he’d eaten two hours ago counts. “Why, are you hungry? We can-” _go to the cafe,_ he thinks. He’ll make Nicky breakfast. He’s been dying to try out his new muffin recipe on him, actually.

“No, no,” Nicky shakes his head. He twists towards him, one hand cupped over his knee. “I mean, yes, I’m hungry- but I didn’t mean-” he exhales, looking frustrated with himself. Joe continues to stare at him, a little bewildered. “I wanted to say,” Nicky begins again, looking up at him, bright blue eyes earnest and wide. “That you’ve been very kind to me the past few weeks. I wanted to return the favour. Would you like to have breakfast with me? I can cook.”

“Well, first of all, those weren’t favours,” Joe reminds him immediately. Surely this ridiculous, gorgeous man doesn’t think Joe was doing all of that just so he could get something out of him? Well, if genuine affection counts, maybe, but Joe sincerely hopes he hadn’t given him that impression. And then he registers the rest of what Nicky had said and his heart starts beating a little faster. 

“I know!” Nicky runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I didn’t express myself properly. I would like to do something nice for you also, is what I mean. I don’t know how to say it more plainly.”

The only appropriate response to that would be to kiss the fuck out of him, and say _you expressed yourself fine, you sweet, stupidly handsome man._ God, he wishes he could do that. “No, I know exactly what you mean. You still don’t have to do any of that-”

Nicky opens his mouth to say something but Joe finishes his sentence quickly so Nicky doesn’t interrupt him- “but it’s still the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me so yes. Definitely. I’m starving.”

Nicky laughs, the kind of loud, helpless laughter that rushes out of someone’s mouth when they’re relieved. “That’s a very low bar, Joe. I don’t want you to think so highly of me just for making you breakfast.”

“Oh, Nico,” Joe says through a slow exhale, shaking his head with mock seriousness. The stupid grin that’s stretching his face is probably ruining the effect. “It’s much, much too late for that.”

***

  
  
  


Joe memorises the way to Nicky’s flat. It’s ten minutes away from the park, the top floor of a four storey building. As soon as Nicky opens the door for him, he curses under his breath in Italian, and immediately rushes inside to start hastily picking up things scattered over various surfaces and putting them on other surfaces. The net effect is that it doesn’t make the room any cleaner. “Sorry about the mess,” he says, kicking what looks like discarded socks under the sofa. “I would have- um, tidied up, but I only thought of inviting you this morning, and, well, as you can see.” Nicky looks up at him apologetically, holding a plate that he probably ate on a few days ago.

Joe thinks that it looks like the home of someone who is too busy working to care about putting things in order, and he can understand that. He closes the door behind himself, waving him off. “You should see mine.” Truth be told, his is untider than his, and considering his flat is marginally larger, it also has a marginally larger mess. Besides, a messy flat means he can catch sight of Nicky various possessions; mostly books, scattered over the coffee table and the sofa, some clothes, a few brightly coloured chew toys. Bella immediately takes one in her mouth and curls up on the dark green rug in the middle of the room.

“You really don’t have to do that,” he tells Nicky again, patiently standing near the door and taking a look around while Nicky has his fill of stuffing things out of sight. His eyes fall on a cabinet pushed to the side of the room, against a wall, framed pictures on the varnished top. 

“Just give me a minute-” Nicky mutters, “I am very sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joe responds absently. He picks up one of the pictures. “Is this your family?” _Obviously,_ Joe thinks. Why would Nicky keep pictures of random people he doesn’t know in his flat?

“What? Oh. Yes,” there’s a soft thud as Nicky must have dropped something onto the floor. The next moment, Nicky is standing next to him, and they’re both looking down at the silver-framed picture in Joe’s hands. “That would be my mother,” he says softly, tapping the glass with his index finger. Joe smiles as he looks at her; she has Nicky’s nose, his eyes. There are three more people in the picture. Nicky points them all out. “My sister, Katrina. My younger brother, Gabriel.”

Joe glances towards him, and his heart melts. Nicky’s face is flooded with fondness, a soft smile on his face. It’s a happy picture; everyone smiles widely at the camera. There’s even a fluffy white cat at Nicky’s mother’s feet. “Ah, but Nicky,” Joe says. “You didn’t tell me who _this_ gangly young man is.” He’s the only one in the picture who’s glowering at the camera; he’s the tallest of the lot, and he stands behind the younger children looking like he would prefer to be anywhere else. Joe can sympathise; it’s difficult to be anything but upset with _that_ haircut. 

“Absolutely no idea,” Nicky says flippantly. He takes the picture from Joe’s hand and stares at it, brows furrowed, pretending to inspect it. 

Joe smirks. “No?”

Nicky shrugs, putting the picture back on top of the cabinet. “Must have been some child who wandered in, pretended to be part of our family. My mother’s always had an affinity for strays.”

Joe makes a soft, musing noise. “How strange. You look a bit like him, you know.”

Nicky purses his lips, twists his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh. “Do I?” He turns around to stare back at Joe almost challengingly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Joe nods, very seriously. “Oh yeah. The jawline. And the. You know. Ears.”

Nicky raises his eyebrows. “ _Interesting_.”

“And the eyes. I bet if you scowled right now, you’d be splitting images.”

Nicky whistles, very impressed. “ _What_ an imagination you have, Joe. Have you considered being a writer?”

Joe sighs dramatically. “I have been levelled with that accusation before, Nico.”

Nicky shakes his head, laughing. Oh, god. That. Joe could listen to that sound for hours. Joe could think of clever things to say all day just so that he could make Nicky laugh exactly like that. He’s glad Nicky’s head is ducked, otherwise Nicky would doubtless see the sappy, absolutely smitten look on his face. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, and steps away from him, returning to his futile attempts to clean the room. “Just give me another moment, alright?”

“Take your time,” Joe tells him, still grinning. Oh, and he means it. It would only be polite of him to insist that Nicky _doesn’t_ need to tidy up the room especially for him, but right at this moment he’s bending over the coffee table to pick something off the ground and Joe’s mind grinds to an absolute halt. _Look at something else, look at something else, look at-_ Joe clears his throat, turns around and stares resolutely at a picture of Nicky’s grandmother. Her appropriately stern expression wilts whatever was stirring in his pants. It’s like she almost _knows_ what Joe was doing. And she doesn’t approve at all.

“Much better,” Nicky finally says, loudly, and Joe finally turns back around, trying to look innocent. Nicky is standing in the middle of his living room, which now has been cleared of old clothes and plates. He looks quite proud of himself. Adorable. 

After that Nicky leads him to his small, sunny kitchen. It’s much cleaner than the rest of the flat; in fact, it’s practically spotless. No dirty plates in the sink (well, that’s probably because Nicky prefers to keep them in his living room) but it’s neat, and the dining table (which takes up most of the space) is clear of anything except for a dog bowl with _Bella_ <3 written on it. “It is a little cramped,” Nicky says, apologetically, hurriedly putting the bowl away. “My mother gave me the dining table and I had nowhere else to put it.”

Joe is quite fine with a cramped kitchen. Because it means that when he leans the small of his back against the edge of the table, Nicky is only a few short inches away. Joe has worked in many cramped kitchens before he opened his own shop. He’ll admit that it’s not entirely pleasant bumping hips and shoulders with your co-workers while you’re on a tight schedule or carrying plates.

He wouldn’t mind doing that here, in this kitchen. With Nicky.

“Nico,” he says, drawing his name out.. “I am very honoured to be in your kitchen. Don’t worry about anything else.”

Nico smiles, the soft, shy smile that Joe is probably getting a little addicted to. “Thank you. Now you make yourself at home. And I am going to cook you breakfast.”  
  


To emphasise, Nicky pulls out a chair and gestures towards it. Joe laughs, shaking his head. “My mother would be ashamed if I did that, Nico. I’m going to help you.” He pushes the chair back and side steps Nicky, so he’s leaning against the stove now. “I can be a very good assistant.”

Nicky inclines his head, an exasperated smile pulling at his mouth. He puts his hands on his hips, perhaps attempting to look determined, but failing. “You’re my _guest._ You’re going to sit here. And you’re going to allow me to cook for you.”

Joe purses his lips. “Sounds like you’re telling me to stay out of the way.”

Nicky comes closer, although admittedly, it’s not much of a distance. Another step in his direction and they’d be pressed up against each other, both of them against his ancient-looking stove. Instead he steps to the side, next to him, reaching up to open one of the cabinets and extracting a cast-iron skillet. “Yes. That, exactly.” He twists around so his hip is cocked against the sink, skillet in his hand, and _that’s_ certainly not an image Joe had ever thought he’d find unbearably sexy.

That, coupled with the now surprisingly effective _do what I’m telling you_ expression. 

“Nico, am I _distracting_ you?” Joe knows he’s definitely flirting this time, but it’s _so_ difficult not to. Especially when Nicky is doing especially sexy things like bringing eggs out of his fridge and turning on the stove. What can he say? Joe finds a man who can cook very, very attractive. 

“I think you _know_ how distracting you are,” Nicky says, not quite looking at him. He’s concentrating on whisking his eggs, but there’s a little smile at the corner of his mouth. 

Joe gives a very pleased sigh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Go and _sit,_ ” Nicky orders, voice edged with a soft laugh. He reaches a hand out and tries to push him away. And _hmm,_ that’s nice, the brief moment when the warmth of Nicky’s palm bleeds through his t-shirt and through his chest. Joe would argue, only that that makes him a little dizzy for a moment. 

“You make it so difficult to be a gentleman,” Joe complains, but obediently takes a seat at the table. Takes his jacket off and hangs it over the edge of his chair. Nicky throws him a very satisfied glance over his shoulder and returns to whisking his eggs. Joe is definitely not used to being waited on; and he can’t remember the last time anyone’s ever cooked for him. It’s always been him taking care of that bit; because he loves doing it. Being on the other end of it is...pleasant. Very pleasant. Almost as pleasant as being able to watch Nicky drizzle olive oil into a pan, that little frown between his brows. And like this, Joe can just _look_ at him. He shouldn’t stare, god, he really shouldn’t, but how do you _not_ stare at someone who looks like... _that_? Nicky looks like a fucking Roman statue come to life. 

He’s never been able to take enough time to appreciate the broadness of his shoulders, the way his hair is cut very neatly at the back, the way his waist tapers down to the most _fantastic_ ass Joe has ever seen in his life.

With anyone else, he would have been able to guess what was being cooked, he probably would have offered suggestions. With Nicky, he has no idea. All he can do is watch, the way he moves so gracefully around his tiny kitchen, the way he picks ingredients out of the fridge confidently. He knows what he’s doing, and he must have done this several times before. Clearly he loves it. Joe knows a natural cook when he sees one. 

“You like cooking,” Joe muses out loud.

“Hmm?” Nicky turns around halfway to look at Joe. “I do, yes. My parents; they were out a lot, working,” he turns his attention back to whatever he’s stirring around in the pan. “We weren’t affluent enough to afford help. I started cooking for my siblings, realised I loved it. Now whenever I’m back at home it’s just me and Nonna cooking for everyone else.”

“Nico, I had no idea. Have you been secretly judging all the food I’ve been serving you?”

He snorts.“Oh. Yes. And I’ve decided it’s all awful.”

“Well, that’s hurtful. Will you come and whip us all into shape, then? Teach us.”

Nico takes a moment to mull over that, tilting his head to the side like he’s seriously considering it. “I’ll think about it,” he finally says, turning around to smile at Joe, and oh, Joe hasn’t seen _this_ one before, with that hint of mischievousness, that little glint in Nicky’s eye. 

“Ah well,” Joe sighs. “A man can dream. Let me make you some coffee and try to convince you.”

Nicky closes his eyes and shakes his head, suddenly looking very resigned. “Joe,” he says, quietly. “I really wish it wouldn’t come to this.”

Joe stares at him, trying to figure out if this is the beginning of some joke: he really can’t tell. “What- um- what are you-” Should he not have offered to make the coffee? Maybe Nicky is sick of drinking his coffee. He watches, only growing more confused as Nicky stands on his tiptoes to pick something out of the cabinet. He turns around to face Joe, holding a glass jar in his hands. He holds it out to Joe. “I only have instant coffee, Joe, I’m very sorry.”

Joe bursts out laughing; a loud _ha!_ That he couldn’t have controlled even if he tried. And he can’t stop. Nicky joins in after a second, leaning against the sink, shoulders shaking. Suddenly Joe realises that he’s never heard Nicky talk so much before, or even joke, and he realises that he’s _not_ as quiet and reticent as he’d assumed; it’s only when Nicky is comfortable enough that he isn’t either of those things. 

He adores the Nicky he’s seen so far, sweet and shy and awkward, but this is Nicky when he’s _open_ and and comfortable and fucking hilarious. This is the Nicky that Joe wants to know, because he feels like he’s being allowed in on something precious and hidden, a part of himself that Nicky only allows some people to see. It’s an honour. And Joe cherishes it.

“You should try green tea instead,” Nicky says, voice still unsteady with laughter. He’s piling the food onto two plates. “I’ve heard it’s very good for you.” He slides one of them in front of Joe and takes the seat opposite. 

Joe is suddenly starving. “This looks delicious,” he says fervently.“And we do serve green tea, actually.”

Nicky scoffs. “Does anyone _order_ it?”

“No, no, it’s our least selling item. But Q- that’s Andy’s girlfriend- wanted it on the menu and it stuck. Fuck, this is amazing.”

Joe shouldn’t speak with his mouth full, but he _has_ to tell Nicky that he’s a brilliant cook. If Joe wasn’t desperately trying to court him (and yes, Joe is going to choose that word, definitely not because Booker put it into his head) he might have tried to offer him a job.

Nicky looks very pleased. “Thank you. So, Andy has a girlfriend?” 

“Mmm. They’ve been together for years. I’ve known Q for as long as I’ve known Andy, and I’ve known Andy for a really long time.” 

“Ah,” Joe looks up from his plate and at Nicky, catching some expression flicker through his face that he can’t quite catch. “And what about Nile?”

Joe frowns at him. “What about her?”

“Does she have a...boyfriend?” He clears his throat, a little pointedly, and doesn’t quite look him in the eye when he asks. Which could mean...what, exactly? That he’s interested in _Nile_? Joe has half a mind to tell him that Nile isn’t interested in men, but obviously he would never do that, and why does Nicky care so much about Nile’s dating habits anyway? Or maybe this is just him being polite and trying to maintain a conversation. 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Joe answers as honestly as he can, wearily watching Nicky’s face; but he doesn’t look relieved or pleased about that. The little frown is back between his brows, that _distracting_ little frown that Joe wants to smooth away with his fingers. 

“You’re fond of her,” Nicky says, a statement of fact, and Joe doesn’t quite understand where this is going. He’s about to say _well, yeah, she’s one of my closest friends,_ and then it clicks. He chuckles, shaking his head, and Nicky stares at him, eyes wide and lips pursed. 

“As any man would be fond of his sister,” he explains, “You know. Like you and your agent.” And he tries to say that as meaningfully as he can, tries to put some subtext into that, _Nico, Nico, I only have eyes for you, am I not making it clear enough_ ? Joe doesn’t know how much harder he’s allowed to try, and he’s not sure why Nicky looks pleased _now._

“Anyway,” he says, “You could be a cook, Nico, did I tell you how amazing this is?’ Joe gestures to his plate with his fork. Nicky’s pleased half-smile only widens. _Perfect._

  
“You did.”

Joe gushes a bit more, because he _can,_ because he’s actually being very honest about this, and because every time he compliments Nicky it makes his pale cheeks flood with pink and Joe has never seen anything quite as beautiful as Nicky blushing. 

“I _could_ be a cook, you are right,” Nicky says musingly, “But some things are very personal, no? Cooking is like that for me. I cook for my family. For...friends,” he pauses for a second, bites his lip, thus requiring superhuman effort on Joe’s part to not stare at his mouth. “Not that doing it professionally isn’t personal,” he adds, quickly, looking like he’s afraid he’s offended Joe. Joe shakes his head, smiling.

“I know exactly what you mean. I am a very lucky man to be allowed this, then.”

They eat together in companionable silence, and it’s almost a little strange how comfortable Joe feels with Nicky. It shouldn’t be this easy, should it? They break the silence a few times, Joe asks him more questions about his family, and Nicky asks him when he opened his cafe. Joe tells him about his sisters, and mentions flippantly that his mother would love Nicky. His sisters would probably adore him as well, and tease him endlessly, which is just how they show affection. Joe, being the youngest, unlike Nicky, was bullied (with love) for most of his childhood.

And he realises, with a jolt of surprise, that he’s fantasising about introducing Nicky to his _family._

Which is not quite the same as imagining how the back of his neck would feel like against his mouth, or whether he would blush in quite the same way if Joe were to bury his fingers in his hair. Different, and possibly a far more dangerous fantasy.

He tries not to revisit it again. Instead, he concentrates on making Nicky laugh, which is much easier. The most successful attempt is not even his own; it’s Bella’s, when she finally decides to join them in the kitchen (probably drawn to the smell of food), and jumps on Joe like she’s just remembered he was there. She’s a big dog, and she almost knocks Joe out of his chair. Nicky finds it hilarious. 

Afterwards, Joe scrapes his plate clean and says, “Best meal I’ve had, ever.”

Nicky rolls his eyes. “I don’t believe you,” he replies, standing up and taking Joe’s plate. “But I appreciate it all the same.”

“Nico, I’m hurt. Do you think I would lie to you?” Joe stands and quickly intercepts him before he can reach the sink and takes the plates from his hand. “And _I_ will take care of this.”

Nicky opens his mouth, frowning, looking like he’s annoyed with himself for allowing Joe to do that so easily. “No,” he says, sounding very determined. “You’re the guest, so you will sit down and let _me_ do that.”

He reaches for his hand but Joe raises them both above eye level and out of Nicky’s reach. “Nico, Nico, while you ordering me around is very pleasant, I must insist. You see,” he turns around and puts the plates into the sink and turns on the tap, rolling up his sleeves. “When a handsome man such as yourself cooks for me, I always wash the dishes to show my gratitude.”

“I didn’t know you made a habit of it,” Nicky replies smoothly, sounding amused as he stands next to him, cocking his hip against the kitchen counter. Once again, Joe is thankful to Nicky’s ridiculously cramped kitchen. Joe shrugs, grabbing the liquid soap he sees next to the sink.

“Don’t worry,” he turns towards Nicky, grinning. “You’re still special.”

Nicky smiles, all teeth, and maybe Joe just being the hopeless romantic that he is but all he can think about is pressing Nicky to the counter and cupping his soapy hands over his ears and kissing that smile. Run his hands over his chest, get that t-shirt wet, slip his hands underneath and _touch,_ slide his mouth over his neck, swallow his little gasps of breath.

“You’re a natural,” Nicky says, loudly, and Joe has to blink a few times to drag himself back to reality. And stare at Nicky for a second or so. 

“Oh. Yes,” He scrubs at the plate. “I am. My sisters say it makes me very good husband material.”

Nicky tilts his head. “Surely that’s not the only thing?”

“No, no, I can clean too.” 

Nicky laughs. “Sounds like you _would_ make the ideal husband,” he agrees, and holds out his hand for the now washed plate. Joe hands it to him, watching as Nicky wipes it clean with a towel and puts it on a nearby rack to dry. 

He does it for everything else; the chopping board, the greasy pan, the knives and forks. Joe washes and Nicky wipes them down and puts them back. It’s strangely, wonderfully domestic. Joe has done similar things for his partners before; because he’s polite, and a gentleman, but it has never felt like _this_ before- like they’ve been doing it for years. Like habit. Like routine. 

Once the last of the kitchenware has been washed and dried, they both turn around, leaning against the counter, Nicky flings the wet cloth he’d been using to wipe the dishes onto the table with excellent accuracy. “Thank you.”

“My absolute pleasure, Nico,” Joe replies graciously, because it most certainly was. 

There’s a beat of silence and he thinks: now or never. He takes a deep breath, swallows down his nervousness and turns towards him. “Do you remember when I called you about the open mic thing?”

“Of course. Because you did that yesterday-” he checks the clock over the fridge. “Less than twelve hours ago.” He turns back to Joe, teasing smile curving his mouth. 

Joe nods, his own face feeling very warm, acceding to that with an embarrassed smile. “Right, obviously. Well, I was wondering if you could perhaps help me with something.”  
  


Nicky, ever polite, ever generous, doesn’t even take a second to think, just immediately responds with, “Of course. Anything.” He crosses his arms over his chest and focuses all of his attention on Joe. 

Following which Joe comes up with the lamest excuse in the history of the universe to get Nicky alone with him. The logical solution to his predicament would have been to just ask Nicky out on a proper date; but he’s a pathetic coward and he doesn’t want to overwhelm Nicky. Besides, he could just as easily test the waters with this first; if Nicky has a good time, then maybe Joe can work up the courage to ask him out. Properly. To dinner. At a fancy restaurant. Or to his place. He could cook. There would be wine, probably. Joe is _good_ at romance. It’s just _Nicky_ who does something to his head and turns him into a complete idiot.

“There’ll be setting up to do at the cafe. You know, lights, equipment. I could do it by myself, of course, but it’ll take ages. Booker’s awful at it and Nile’s busy with college, so I don’t want to ask her, and Andy said she would help, but it’s very possible she won’t turn up, so,” he closes his mouth, feeling his jaw tensing of its own accord, and then continues before his anxiety makes him clam up entirely. “So, if you- if you were free the day before, that’s Saturday- you don’t have to, obviously. I’ll find someone else. But it would be better. With you.”

(It’s not entirely accurate; ‘lights’ will consist of maybe a few strings of fairy lights and the equipment just means the mic and the speaker. Joe _could_ actually do it by himself. He’ll have to figure out a way to make the entire thing seem genuine, but he has twenty four hours to do that- _if_ Nicky agrees.)

“I can help,” Nicky says immediately. “Of course. But you will have to tell me what to do, though. Very clear instructions.”

Joe smiles so widely he can feel it in his cheeks. The effort to not just do something stupid like grab Nicky and spin him around or kiss his cheek in gratitude is overwhelming. “Definitely. Don’t even worry about that. You’ll be a lot of help just by being there.” He’s so relieved and ecstatic that he doesn’t even ponder over how stupid that sounds; what the hell does that even mean? Nevermind, he’ll be replaying this conversation in his head a hundred times anyway when he’ll be alone and back home; he’ll do it then. 

Nicky smiles bashfully, cupping the back of his neck like he does sometimes when he’s embarrassed. “This weekend, you said?”

“Mmm. After the cafe’s closed. But you can come over at any time. I’ll reserve a table for you if you want to wait there. Whatever you like.” Joe would be happy to close it down as soon as Nicky arrived. Which, admittedly, makes him a terrible businessman, but since Nicky thinks that anyway, he doesn’t have much to lose. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Nicky promises. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Nico. A friend in need _and_ a friend in deed. Like I said: I’m a very lucky man.”

Nicky scoffs, waving that off with a hand. “I haven’t even done anything yet. Maybe I’ll be just as terrible as Booker- and you’ll regret asking me for help.”

Joe snorts. “Trust me, that would never, ever happen.”

Nicky raises an eyebrow at him, like he doesn’t _believe_ him, like he thinks Joe is being terribly nice, and how does he tell Nicky that he’s never been more truthful in his life? Joe can feel his jaw tense with the weight of everything he can’t tell him, and he swallows it down. Not now. Patience. Patience is virtue. Nicky deserves to be wooed, (fuck you, Book) and even _if_ that mole on his jaw is messing with his sanity and Joe really, _really_ wants to kiss him right now, he’s not going to. 

“Anyway,” Joe says, backing a step away. “I should go,” he looks at his watch, he barely registers the time. “Andy will kill me. I’m already an hour late.”

“Ah,” Nicky nods, “Of course. Yes. He steps around the table to the chair that Joe was sitting on and picks up the jacket hanging off the edge. He holds it out for him. “Saturday, then?”

Joe’s mouth feels so terribly dry. He takes his jacket and slips into it wordlessly, after which he says, with some effort, “Yeah. And, listen, Nico,” Nicky looks at him expectantly. “This was...the nicest time I’ve had in a while. Thought I’d tell you before I go. Mostly because I got to spend it with you.” And then he raises his hand and cups it over Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky tenses just slightly under his touch so Joe removes his hand almost immediately. _Damn it._

“Likewise, Joe,” Nicky tells him, and Joe is reminded of a similar time he’d said that, when he’d seen Nicky again for the second time, when he thought he’d never set eyes on him again. In the list of his favourite moments, that definitely makes the top three. Nicky smiles at him as he says it, his favourite kind of smile, and the sunlight catches in his eyes just right, turning them the shade of sea glass. Joe feels a little bit better. _Patience,_ he reminds himself again. All in good time, right? 

  
(It _is_ getting a little tougher now, though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you enjoyed it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There,” Joe says, and Nicky watches, entranced, as he licks his lips, letting go of him, fingers trailing over his skin, just a little. “All clean. Although I can’t say the same for the rest of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this hasn't been beta'ed, because i wanted to post this asap :>

It’s not a date. It’s _not_ a date. 

Nicky has to keep reminding himself of this very simple fact, lest he forget and get carried away. Joe needed the help, and Nicky is nothing if not helpful, and besides it was _Joe_ asking, and how could he ever say no to Joe? He nervously runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to tamp it down, but it’s been sticking up oddly at the back for an hour and Nicky had no idea how to keep it flat so he’d just given up. 

He walks down the familiar path to the coffee shop, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wondering if he should have maybe dressed up in something nicer. But firstly, he doesn’t know what _nice_ entails, and he’s thinking that perhaps a wrinkled button down and his only pair of slacks might not have done the trick. And besides, he tells himself, with a little edge of frustration, it’s not a date, it’s just a friend helping out another friend, and Nicky is very determined to be a good friend to Joe.

He is, of course, doubtful of how much help he’s going to be this evening. But he’d been honest about that, right? So if Joe was looking for someone who knew exactly what he was doing, he could have asked someone else. Which would have made Nicky extremely upset and prompted him, in all probability, to maintain that he _did_ know something about speakers and what not- after which he would have spent an entire night googling things he hadn’t heard of before that day. 

He reaches the shop in another minute. It’s closed now; of course. Nicky had been planning to come earlier but he’d started writing and he hadn’t realised how the time had flown. The glass walls are covered with wooden blinds and there’s a _closed_ sign swinging between the handles outside. Should he-? He stands outside the door for a few seconds, steadily growing colder and second guessing himself. Should he call Joe? Would it be rude to just barge in? He tries to push the door open a little and finds that it’s not locked. Which is…not safe. What if he gets robbed? 

Fuck it, Nicky decides, and pushes the door open the rest of the way and steps inside.

For a moment he wonders if he’s walked into the wrong coffee shop, because it looks very different. Once he gets over the initial surprise, however, he notices that only the tables and chairs have been pushed out of the way to make more space in the middle of the room. It’s warm; the heater must have been on for a while, so Joe should be- somewhere. There’s no sign of him here, maybe he’s in the kitchen? Nicky starts to take a step towards the counter when he notices one of the walls has been completely white washed, newspapers on the floor in front of it. He doesn’t remember what it was covered with at first, what does he even look at except Joe when he’s here- but not it’s been painted with plain white. He looks a little closer and realises it’s been drawn over as well; just light grey lines over the white paint, a design that Nicky thinks is beautiful but can’t make much sense of.

It’s geometric, he supposes, a little floral. Pretty. He stands there for what feels like the longest time, just staring at the wall and noticing all the tiny details. It’s intricate; it would have taken a while to complete. He’s so lost in the art that he almost startles when he hears the bell at the top of the door tinkle. He turns to see Joe, closing the door behind himself and smiling at him so brightly that it almost hurts to look at him. Nicky finds himself smiling back instinctually; Joe’s smile is infectious.

“Nico!” he greets him loudly, voice familiar and exuberant. “You look great. How long have you been waiting for me?”

Nicky takes a second to stare at him before answering; because Joe is wearing his snapback and there’s a tuft of hair peeking through the gap at the front and Nicky wants to touch it. He’s dressed in black joggers and what looks like a very old-t shirt with a hoodie thrown over it; he feels a little better about being underdressed. He looks strangely soft and rumpled and somehow very _young_ and Nicky’s breath catches a little at the sight of him.

 _Get yourself together, di Genova,_ he scolds himself. 

“I, um, not very long,” he answers, watching as Joe puts down what he has in his hands on the floor. They look like tin cans of paint. “Your shop was unlocked. I let myself in. Which reminds me- you should lock it up when you leave.”

Joe shoots him an amused look as he shrugs out of his hoodie and throws it on top of one of the tables that have been pushed to the side. “It’s very sweet you’re worried about the safety of the shop. I was only gone for a second. Well, a little longer than a second. Probably got carried away,” he gestures to the cans of paint on the floor. “See, I wasn’t planning on this happening,” he waves towards the whitewashed wall. “But I closed the shop up early today, and while I was waiting for you, I got antsy. And this...just sort of happened.”

He says it with a trace of embarrassment, like Joe is not one of the most talented people Nicky has ever met. “It’s beautiful,” he says quickly. “I never knew…” he shakes his head, voice trailing off. He clears his throat before continuing. “I never knew you were such a good artist.”

“Yeah? You like it?” Joe tilts his head to the side, somehow managing to look both shy and smug at the same time, an irresistible combination. Nicky’s almost-always present store of fondness for Joe spreads to the very tips of his fingers, warm and bone-deep. He nods. 

“Not like I really understand art,” he points out. “So I don’t know how much my opinion is worth.”

Joe raises an eyebrow. “For a fairly intelligent man, Nico, you do say the most stupid things,” he huffs a soft laugh. “Trust me, I don’t particularly care about what people think of my work. It makes me happy, it’s something I enjoy,” he shrugs. “But sometimes, someone very special comes along and calls it beautiful and suddenly I do care, very much.” Nicky would like to say something in response to that, but he can’t seem to get any words out, and Joe clears his throat pointedly and says, “Anyway. So. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Nicky replies, mouth dry and voice hoarse. “You’re going to paint it, yes?”

“Mm hmm,” Joe kneels on the floor, taking the lids off the cans carefully. They’re all bright colours; magenta, yellow, sunset-orange. Nicky notices that there are smudges of what looks like charcoal on Joe’s wrists, dark stains against the golden-brown of his skin. With a sigh, Joe leans back on the floor, supporting himself on his palms, looking up at Nicky. “This is probably more than what you’d expected to help with. So. I can absolutely do this by myself.”  
“I am inclined to agree with you, but more because I don’t want to _help_ you and ruin your art,” Nicky confesses, sinking down to the floor along with him, cross legged. Joe raises an eyebrow and purses his lips, head cocked to the side again like he’s observing Nicky very carefully. Nicky wants to tell him to stop looking at him like that, because it makes his chest feel very tight. It’s also very pleasant, being the object of Joe’s gaze, so he continues. “But. You asked me for help. And here I am. So, anything you need.”

Joe’s mouth curves into a wicked smile. “Nico, you’re not going to ruin anything. There’s very little to ruin. It doesn’t matter how it looks, only that it was made with passion. You see? Now tell me, have you ever painted before?”

Nicky narrows his eyes, trying to think back so he can give Joe an honest answer. “Um. Not since I was a child, I don’t think. I did have to paint the kitchen when I moved into my flat though, the past tenant had written some very rude words on the walls.” 

Joe laughs, shoulders shaking. “I would have liked to see that. Well, this isn’t going to be very different. You just get to use more colours, and put them wherever you want.”

“That sounds very...chaotic.”

Joe concedes to that with a little tilt of his head. “Of course it is. All good art is, in a way. It’s also very fun. Do you trust me?”

Nicky doesn’t even pause before he says, “Yes.”

Joe gives him a brilliant, wide smile, and then he fluidly gets to his feet, picking up two of the cans as he does. “Good decision. Come here, get the rest of the paint.”

Nicky follows his instructions obediently, grabbing the remaining cans and following him to where he stands in front of the wall, placing the cans on the floor, their feet crinkling over the newspaper. “Alright, hang on a second,” Joe instructs him again, and rushes towards the counter. Nicky spends the next five minutes watching as Joe returns with two glasses of paintbrushes, and two plastic tumblers of water, all of which he places on the floor. Nicky asks him politely if he would like some help, but Joe just tells him to wait.

After he’s done arranging things, he stands up and gives Nicky a quick once over. “Ah. I forgot to ask. Are you particularly fond of that t-shirt?”

Nicky stares down at himself, thoughtful. He has six identical t-shirts, so that would be a resounding _no_. He shakes his head. 

“I’m glad. It would be very rude of me to not inform you beforehand that I was planning on ruining your clothing.”

He winks at him, a little glint in his dark eyes that makes Nicky wonder if Joe is thinking of something else while he says that. Nicky certainly is.

“Here,” Joe says, picking out a paintbrush and handing it to him. It’s medium sized, fits nicely in his hand. Or at least Nicky thinks so. It looks well used, there are smudges of paint still stuck on the handle, some of the wood chipping away. Nicky suddenly realises that this is _Joe’s_ brush, one that he must have used several times, going by the looks of it, and has owned for many years. The thought makes his stomach do an odd swooping thing. “And,” Joe picks out the brushes out of the glass for himself with practised ease, but doesn’t do anything with it. He looks expectantly at Nicky. 

“I- okay, alright,” Nicky licks his lips. “You want me to. How should I-” He dithers, a little bit. Turns towards the cans of paint arranged in what looks, now, like a very confusing and impressive display. 

“Anything goes, remember? Just pick a colour,” Nicky glances towards him. Joe has his arms crossed over his chest, expression soft and careful. 

He really doesn’t care, Nicky thinks. Or he has much more faith in Nicky than Nicky does in himself. Nicky dips the paintbrush into the nearest can- a rich, deep, ochre-y yellow that reminds him of sunflowers. He waits for the excess to drip off and then, very carefully, reaches an arm out and brushes a strip of colour over the wall, filling in a triangular shape.

“Perfect,” Joe says quietly. Nicky feels a shy smile pulling at his mouth. He doesn’t think he can look at Joe yet- otherwise he might drop his brush or do something equally stupid. “But, let me just,” there’s a whisper of movement beside him and suddenly he can feel Joe at his back, close enough to smell his now familiar cologne. Warm breath flutters over the back of his neck as Joe’s hand comes up behind him to rest gently on the top of his wrist.

Nicky wills himself not to freeze, to lean into the touch and enjoy it for as long as he can- and not repeat what he did the time he cooked Joe breakfast. (if he’d just reacted to his touch like a normal person, Joe would have touched him for _longer._ ) He swallows past something hard in his throat.

“Keep your hand steady, right, that’s it,” Joe says, and his voice is _very_ close to his ear. His palm is warm, his touch careful as he guides Nicky’s hand. “Don’t- yeah, firm upward strokes are best. Perfect. Look at that. You’re a natural.” 

Nicky wants to drop the paintbrush, turn around and fist his hand into Joe’s t-shirt, pull him towards himself and right down on top of the newspapers. Instead he swallows that particular desire down and says, “I am?” his voice has a bit of a rasp to it, but he can’t be blamed, not when Joe is right behind him and if he just backed up a bit he would be pressed up right against his front.

Regretfully, however, Joe moves away and his comforting warmth is replaced by conspicuous absence. 

“Absolutely,” he says easily, picking up one of the tumblers from the floor. He keeps it in one hand and uses the other to dip his paintbrush into another can. “Takes one to know one,” he adds, winking. Nicky ignores the twisting of his gut as he watches Joe set his brush to the wall. Oh. He’s good at this. Obviously, not that Nicky had doubted that, at all, but watching him at work is something else entirely. 

“You’re just flattering me,” he argues, turning away because he should actually help Joe instead of staring at him, at the little rag he’s tucked into the back pocket of his jeans that swishes around with every sway of his hips. “You’re very good at it, you know. Has anyone ever told you?”

Joe smirks. “What, that I'm a champion smooth talker?” He shrugs. “Andy, usually in a very derogatory way. But it’s not sweet talking if I’m being honest, is it? Sincerity, I’ve always thought sincerity is very attractive.” He swirls his paintbrush into the water, wipes his fingers on his jeans, leaving smudges of colour all over himself. 

“You’re trying to convince me of something, I just know it,” Nicky mutters, deciding to use a different color. He honestly has no idea what he’s doing, and he thinks Joe night just be regretting his decision to let Nicky have free reign over any part of his beautiful wall. But he doesn’t seem to be bothered. Maybe he’ll just paint over it again. 

“Nicolò,” he says, dragging his name out like he does sometimes. “You know me too well already. Soon I won’t have anything else up my sleeve to impress you,” he shakes his head, looking comically disappointed. “But no. Trust me. I was only convincing you that you’re a very charming painter.”

“Charming,” Nicky repeats, “I’m guessing that doesn’t mean skilled.”

Joe pauses in his painting, smiling crookedly at Nicky and giving his side of the wall a cursory look. Nicky, objectively thinks he’s doing a horrible job, but Joe doesn’t comment on it. Much. “It means you have a lot of spirit,” he allows, which sounds like something someone would say because they’re trying to let them down easy, but like everything else that comes out of Joe's mouth, it sounds entirely genuine. “Which,” he says pointedly, swiping a bright stripe of magenta right across the wall. “Most people don’t have.”

Nicky thinks Joe has a great deal of spirit too, in everything he does. And watching him paint makes him ache in a way that he doesn’t understand, it makes him want to stand beside him and put his chin on his shoulder, makes him want to dip his fingers into the bright purple paint that Joe is using and smear it over his cheek. He enjoys this, he realizes. Really, truly enjoys it. He holds the brush almost lovingly, paints with care and passion, his wrist moving with the confidence and ease of someone who knows his art very, very well. It’s in the frown between his brows, the way he bites his bottom lip in concentration, and...god. Nicky could stare at him for hours. 

“Why the coffee shop,” Nicky asks him, after a few moments of ogling. He clears his throat, continuing his attempt to colour in the shape in front of him. “And not- this?” he gestures to the wall with his free hand, towards the paint and all the other paraphernalia strewn around them. 

Joe raises his eyebrows a little, as though surprised by the question. Has no one ever asked him that before? Maybe it never seemed so obvious to anyone else, with how at home Joe looks in his own shop, how happy he always seems; Nicky has never come here and not been greeted by the bright-teethed, sunny smile, but he can imagine him just as well like this; in his rumpled, paint covered clothes, his backwards baseball cap, drawing and painting and _creating._

“Well I did go to art school,” he says after a few moments, thoughtfully. The little frown appears between his eyes again. “And I had some odd jobs for a while, after that. I was a preschool art teacher for a bit,” he laughs a little at the memory, and _oh,_ Nicky hadn’t been expecting that burst of warmth in his chest at the mention of Joe with children. It suits him, he thinks. Of course he’d be fantastic with them. They’d love him. “But, well, to be honest, I wasn’t making a lot of money. And this was my uncle’s shop and it was going out of business and I liked baking...so I helped him out for a while. But I was good at it, and business got better, so it...stuck. Like things often do.”

“And now you run a business.”

“And now I run a business,” Joe agrees solemnly. “I don’t regret it. I still get to do things I like. And my staff turned out to be my best friends. And, of course, I met you. So. Funny how things work out, huh?” 

Kind of like destiny, Nicky privately thinks, but doesn’t let that particular thought see the light of day, because it’s ridiculous and sentimental and Nicky never has been so helplessly romantic, but there’s something about _Joe_ that makes him a little stupid with want. And Nicky doesn’t question him, either, because Nicky is _glad_ things worked out that way for him, too. He wants Joe to be happy, and he wants to see him everyday, just like this, even if nothing comes of it. 

He turns around to look at him, probably noticing Nicky’s quiet, the momentary look of concern flickering, replaced with something that looks very much like amusement. Nicky raises an eyebrow the same moment Joe makes a vague gesture towards him with his index finger. “You have some-”

“Hmm?” Nicky frowns, raising a hand to rub at his cheek. Great. Now he looks ridiculous too. “What is it-”

“No, no,” Joe laughs. “You’re making it worse. Stay still.”

And then, to Nicky’s horror-excitement-absolute panic, Joe steps towards him, covering the distance between them with a fluid step. He puts the paintbrush aside and instead uses one hand to cup the back of his neck. And this time, Nicky goes the absolute opposite of _rigid._ No, he’s fucking putty in Joe’s hands. He feels pliable and soft and he has a fleeting thought that if Joe did something other than just hold him carefully like this, he’d just _let_ him. But Joe just swipes at Nicky’s jaw with the heel of his hand. 

For a second they’re both frozen still. Nicky is staring at his soft brown eyes, the sprinkling of freckles. His mouth is so, so close. Pretty and pink and it looks achingly soft, if only Nicky were allowed to kiss him, he’d be sure. 

“There,” Joe says, and Nicky watches, entranced, as he licks his lips, letting go of him, fingers trailing over his skin, just a little. “All clean. Although I can’t say the same for the rest of you.”

His eyes slide downwards, over the rest of him, and Nicky follows his gaze. Yes, he’s a mess. There’s smudges of paint over his forearms, littering his T-shirt, his jeans. Joe is slightly more cleaner than him, but not by much. Nicky raises an eyebrow at him. Joe catches his gaze and laughs. 

“Okay, point noted. But it’s a common hazard.” He wipes his hand over his front, smearing it with orange paint. “I don’t know about you, Nicky, but I quite enjoy getting a little filthy sometimes.”

Something hard and hot drops into the pit of Nicky’s stomach. His mouth falls a little open, partly in shock and partly due to the sudden flare of arousal that practically slaps him in the face. Everything- everything- is very warm all of sudden. He has a feeling Joe knows exactly what he’s doing, this can’t be entirely unintentional, can it? 

Nicky laughs weakly, because he can’t just stand there and stare at Joe’s mid section and wonder if the paint’s somehow managed to get under his t-shirt too. His skin would look nice, Nicky thinks, streaked over with paint. He hasn’t seen Joe shirtless yet (a tragedy) but he knows that it’s all hard abdominal muscles underneath, he can _tell._ His soft linen shirts do very little to hide it.

“I think you’ve got some in your hair,” he suddenly points out, blurting it out before he can stop himself. 

“Oh? Where?” Joe lifts his hand to tug away at his cap, but Nicky stops him by catching his wrist. Well, fuck. Now that he’s committed to this. He gently brushes his hand over the soft little tuft of hair. “Hang on,” Joe mutters, and just takes his cap off with his other hand. “Alright. Have at it.”

Nicky swallows, and part of him is absolutely furious, because _have at it_? Joe doesn’t know that he wants to thread his fingers through his hair. It’s all frizzy from being underneath his cap and Joe looks like an adorable q-tip. He has to content himself with taking longer than necessary to wipe away the errant little drops of paint still clinging to Joe's curls. He has to practically wrench his hand away to prevent himself from scratching his nails against his sclap like he’s petting a dog. 

“Mm, thank you,” Joe says once Nicky drops his hand, his voice gone a little throaty and rough. “It’s very much a bitch to wash anything out of this mess,”

“You have nice hair,” Nicky says automatically, stupidly. 

Joe grins in response, looking ridiculously pleased. “Thank you, Nico. So do you. Now, I think we deserve a break, don’t you?” He casually picks the paintbrush out of Nicky’s hand and dunks both of them in the tumbler of water, which now resembles the colour of pond scum.

“We didn’t even finish-“ Nicky begins, but Joe waves him off. 

“We’ll get there. But you don’t think I’m going to make you slave over that and then starve you?”

“I was hardly slaving,” Nicky protests. “It was...fun. I still think I’m the worst person you could have chosen for that, but still. Fun.”

Joe rolls his eyes, exasperated even as a fond smile pulls at his mouth. “I don’t mean this unkindly, but you are awful at taking compliments. I think my next big project is going to be helping you with that.”

Nicky feels the flush spread from his cheeks to the back of his neck. He doesn’t think Joe could ever say anything unkindly. “Sorry. I mean- um. Thank you.”

“See?” Joe laughs, stepping in front of him and cupping his shoulders. “You’re already learning.”

They end up ordering pizza. Joe apologises to him for not being able to cook him a proper dinner, but Nicky honestly could not care less. He does curl his lip in disgust and roll his eyes when Joe innocently asks him if he likes pineapple on his, it makes Joe bark out a laugh when he spits out _Absolutely not._ He feels a tiny prick of jealousy when Joe succeeds in charming the person who takes their order into giving them extra breadsticks. He wonders if Joe has ever used that voice on him; if he has, Nicky would barely have noticed.

While they wait they set up the fairy lights around the shop and push a makeshift stage up against the wall. It’s really just a low wooden platform, unobtrusive and simple. “Makes it easy for people to do their thing,” Joe explains, untangling the wires hanging from the set of speakers. “If it’s too flashy they’ll get nervous.”

All in all, it doesn’t take them very long, and once they’re done they both sit side by side on the platform, Joe leaning back on his palms, thighs spread a little, looking around the room with a pleased expression on his face.

They’d turned off the main overhead lights so that the room is only filled with the soft, gentle golden glow of the fairy lights. It’s perfect. Nicky thinks Joe could have easily done this by himself, and he’s very glad he didn’t. Part of him- a hopeful, naive part of him, wonders if maybe Joe had asked him for his help just to spend time with him. It’s not impossible- Joe is sweet, and kind, and friendly, and this is the kind of thing people ask their friends, right? 

“Nicolo,” Joe says slowly, dragging him out of his head. “What are you thinking about? You’re frowning so hard,” he taps the space between Nicky’s brows with a finger. “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing,” Nicky replies quickly. “Just that. It looks nice.”

“Mmm,” Joe nods. “It does. Very nice.”

Nowhere near as good as Joe, Nicky thinks, who’s washed his hands but only till his forearms so he still has bits of paint over him, a particularly stubborn patch of yellow crusting over the side of his neck, slipping under the collar of his t-shirt. It’s very distracting.

Their pizza arrives a minute later, and Nicky is spared from the torment of having to look at that little patch of yellow paint while the two of them argue over who’s going to pay the bill. Joe wins, because Joe is very good at convincing _anyone_ of anything, so what chance does Nicky stand, anyway? 

“Sorry about the chairs,” Joe mutters, looking around the room. “We could-”

“The floor is fine,” Nicky tells him quickly, not wanting Joe to worry about something as easily dealt with as _sitting._ Joe looks at him appraisingly, shrugs, and then sets the pizza down on the floor. 

“Hang on,” he raises a finger, and then disappears into the kitchen, only to emerge the next minute with a bottle of wine in his hands, standing behind the counter and holding it up. “Do you want a drink to go with that?”

Ah. Nicky should keep his head. It’s difficult to do it around Joe even when he’s sober. “Sure,” he says instead, because he apparently has zero resolve and he hasn’t had a drink in ages, and _Joe_ is offering. “I didn’t think that you- sorry, not that I’m assuming.”

Joe scrunches his nose, eyes crinkling, bringing the wine around to him. “I try not to make a habit of it,” he admits. “Wait, I forgot to bring glasses-” he swears in a language Nicky doesn’t recognise, makes as if to move back into the kitchen, but Nicky quickly grabs his wrist before he can leave, before Nicky can think better of it.

“We can just share the bottle,” he suggests, letting go of him just as quickly.

“Nicky, the whole _bottle,_ ” Joe repeats, grinning delightedly. “You truly are a man of many surprises.”

Nicky flushes. “I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, please, be my guest,” Joe says gallantly, dropping down onto the floor. “It’s uncorked, I have a feeling Book might have sampled that. It’s from his collection.”

“He won’t mind?” Nicky asks, sitting down.

Joe smirks, wry amusement flickering over his face. “Quite the opposite.”

Nicky raises his eyebrows, wondering what that means, exactly, but decides not to ask. They sit cross legged, across from each other, eating with their hands, right from the box, swiping the bottle between the two of them every once in a while. Joe drinks less than he does, and considering Nicky hasn’t drunk properly in a while, it doesn’t take him very long to start feeling slightly light headed, fuzzy around the edges.

And though Nicky valiantly tries to convince himself otherwise, everything feels distinctly _date-like_ to him. Not a regular kind of date, to be sure, with- with a fancy white tablecloth, and a snobbish waiter who brings them a wine list where the cheapest item costs more than what Nicky makes in a month- but the kind of date that Nicky would actually like, especially if it was with Joe. Because watching him try to catch the strings of mozzarella dripping from his slice with his tongue is quickly turning into one of Nicky’s favourite things in the world.

“Up to your cultural standards, I hope?” Joe raises a dark eyebrow, eyes sparkling.

Nicky snorts, taking a swig from the bottle. “Joe, I’m flattered you think so highly of me, but you should know, I have never made pizza before in my life.”

Joe’s jaw drops open, just a little. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Nicky shakes his head, popping the _p_ sound.

“You’re _Italian._ ”

Nicky tries to keep a straight face as he counters, “That’s offensive.”

He feels a little guilty when he sees the slight moment of panic in Joe’s expression. “No, wait, I didn’t mean-” but then he breaks character, mouth slipping into a grin and Joe’s eyes narrow, pausing his apology, and then chuckling, shaking his head. “You got me.”

“You could always teach me,” Nicky says innocently, suddenly feeling very bold with half a bottle of wine in his system. He almost sways towards Joe as he says it. Keep it _clean,_ he reminds himself. “Nonna’s been trying for years, but I’ve always failed.”

Joe licks at the pad of his thumb. Nicky tries not to focus on that. “Anytime, Nicky,” he assures him. “Wait, on one condition.”

Nicky raises his eyebrows, trying to look offended. “Now it’s conditional?”

Joe grins, holding up a hand to placate him. “Hear me out, hear me out. I’ll teach you. If you tell me about your book.”

Oh. Nicky frowns at him. That was...not what he’d been expecting. He doesn’t know _what_ he was expecting actually (he knew what he was _hoping_ for, probably something filthy and inappropriate and something Joe would never ask him, in a million years) but definitely not this. He’d mentioned his book to Joe a few times before, Joe had taken a peek over his shoulder at his laptop screen when he would write here, and he’d occasionally ask him how his writing was going. But Nicky had never told him _about_ it, not really. “That’s...it?” he blinks at him.

“Nico, what kind of man do you think I am? Honestly, I just want to know more about you.” And then he -he does that thing, he tilts his head and bestows Nico with his dark, _you’re the only thing in the entire universe_ gaze, and Nicky feels faint, with all that attention directed at him. 

“Well,” he begins, his mouth suddenly very dry. He takes a fortifying sip of wine and hands the bottle back to Joe. “It’s a historical piece. Imagine two men on the opposite sides of a holy war that neither of them particularly wish to fight…” Nicky feels a little ridiculous telling him the story, because everything that seemed fine while he was writing it or proof reading, seems kind of silly when he’s putting it into words. But Joe listens intently, leaning forward a little to hear him better. Hear him talk about his characters, the way they can’t stand the sight of each other at first, can’t die to escape the other, can’t help falling in love with each other because somehow destiny always has its way in the end. It wasn’t supposed to be a romance, the romance was just a backdrop; Nicky was supposed to be exploring themes like colonialism and slavery and the more he talks about it the more he feels like it’s little else _but_ a lovestory.

Joe’s expression is difficult to read, not only because of the dim light but also because Nicky’s finding it tough to concentrate. Was that too much? That was definitely too much. He hates it. He probably thinks Nicky is a terrible writer and the plot of his book is stupid. 

“That’s...romantic,” he says, after a few moments. His voice sounds odd.

Nicky takes a shaky breath. “People like reading about romance.”

“Do _you_ like writing about it?”

“I-” Nicky begins, and pauses. He feels a little sick, all the pizza he ate threatening to try and climb right back out of his mouth. He swallows. “Yes,” he finally says, honestly. “The tendency to love- despite everything, or even because of it- is a very human thing. Worth exploring.”  
  
“Ah,” Joe looks thoughtful. He licks his lips, pale pink tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “And you’re drawing from...experience?”

“Am I-” Nicky looks up from his mouth and squints. Experience, what does Joe mean by that? Has he ever loved anyone like that? That kind of love is difficult to find, even more difficult to sustain, to keep safe from all the threats the world can throw at it. He wants to say _no,_ he’s a writer, he can imagine and create and talk about things he’s never felt himself, isn’t that what a good writer does? Just because he’s writing about something doesn’t mean he’s ever had to _feel_ it personally. Nicky’s experience with romance has always been...not scarce, but definitely not meaningful. He looks at Joe for what feels like the longest time, trying to think of something to say, something that would sound honest, but not as honest as _I wish I’d written it after I’d met you, then I would actually something to draw on._ “Some,” he settles on. “Not a lot, I’m afraid. I make up the rest as I go along. I haven’t really...not like that, at least,” he runs a nervous hand through his hair. “What about you?”

Joe has a small smile at the corner of his mouth, eyes soft. “Are you asking me if I’ve ever been in love, Nico?”

Nicky’s breath catches in his throat. “...Yes?”

The smile widens. He picks up the bottle of wine at his side, takes a sip. “Now that would be telling.”

Nicky throws a napkin at him, which Joe dodges easily. “That’s not fair, I told you!”

Joe laughs and laughs, such a lovely sound. Nicky wants to strangle him. “Nico,” he says soothingly, what a complete bastard, he _has_ to know what that tone of voice does to him. “Be reasonable. I’m trying to stay mysterious, to keep you interested in me. I can’t tell you _everything_ all at once, can I?”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Nicky groans. “You’re ridiculous. You are the most ridiculous man I have ever met.”

Joe looks unperturbed at the accusation. “Oh, definitely,” he agrees. “That aspect of my personality, I think I revealed the very first day you spoke to me.”

They talk for what feels like hours. The pizza is long gone and they almost finish the bottle of wine together. At some point of time, Joe leans against the counter next to him, their thighs touching each time Nicky moves a little. He has no inclination to shift from his current position of being plastered to Joe’s side.

“I think I am not coordinated enough to help you finish your wall,” Nicky tells him. Or slurs, more like. The words sound like they’re tangling together. He looks mournfully at the unfinished wall. Whatever they’ve done together looks pretty nice, he thinks. He wishes he could help Joe complete it. 

Joe snorts, patting his knee. “I can’t believe you’re still thinking about the wall. Don’t worry, I’ll finish it tomorrow.” 

Nicky makes a mournful sound, covering his face with one hand. The other hand is still curled around the neck of the bottle. “I knew it, I did an awful job, you don’t want me to ruin it.”

“What?” Nicky can feel Joe shift next to him, and the next moment warm fingers are encircling his wrist and pulling it away from his face. Reluctantly, Nicky allows him, and is confronted with Joe, all big brown eyes and pursed lips. “God help me,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a shaky breath. He takes the bottle out of his hand and puts it aside. “Nico, why would you think that? Remember what I said about not selling yourself short? Hey,” Joe lets go of his wrist and instead cups a hand around his face. Oh. Oh god. Nicky is going to melt, from touch alone. Or explode. Either of the two. “I am so happy you agreed to come here. Thank you, Nico.”

Nicky is in very, very serious danger of pulling Joe closer, the last few inches, and just pressing their lips together. Anything to help with the churning in his gut. Or maybe that’s from all the alcohol he’s consumed tonight. “How are you so _nice_?”

“Am I? I don’t know. Bit difficult to think of yourself as nice,” Joe shifts away from him, tumbling back to his side. How disappointing. Nicky wants to take his hands and put them on his face again. “I’m glad you think so, though.”

“You made me Irish Coffee when I came in here, all wet and shivering,” Nicky tells him, his voice going soft and quiet at the memory. It was hardly a few days after their first run-in at the park. Nicky hadn’t been planning to go there, but he’d got caught in the rain while on the way to a completely different destination (he can’t even remember where, now) and he’d ducked into Joe’s shop to escape it. 

_“Nico, you’re like a magnet to the rain. Come here, have a seat,_ ” Joe had said, and then proceeded to make him the most delicious, throat-burning irish coffee he’d ever had.

“Ah. You looked like you needed it. You were drenched. You looked like a drowned cat.”

Nicky pushes at him, admonishing. Joe laughs, ducking his head. “Don’t be like that,” he protests, pouting. _Fuck._ “I thought you liked it.”

“You _know_ I liked it.”

“Glad to be of service, Nicolo. Making you coffee is now my favourite hobby.”

“I can barely make my own coffee anymore. I blame you.”

Joe makes a gagging noise. “Good _riddance._ I’ve seen that shit you consume. But don’t worry. You can come here anytime you want and I’ll make you _real_ coffee. Or just call me and say, Joe, I’m exhausted and I need a decent fucking cup of coffee. I’ll be there.”

Nicky widens his eyes and says, “That sounds very rude of me. How about I at least say _please._ ”

Joe groans, running both hands through his hair frustratedly. “And you say _I’m_ the nice one. Fine. You can say please. In fact, if you beg a little I might be there a little faster.” Joe winks at him, and Nicky’s entire body flushes. He lets out a surprised laugh, which turns into a giggle, which turns into his trademark snort that he can _never_ get rid of, no matter how hard he tries, and before he knows it he’s buried his nose in Joe’s shoulder and he’s _still_ laughing. He feels an arm around him, warm and strong and cosy. _Mmm._ He could just fall asleep here.

And he might have, he’s not sure, because when Joe whispers into his ear, _“_ Nico?” he startles a little bit.

“What?” he raises his head and looks up at Joe. He blinks rapidly. And then he looks down at himself, to where he’s slumped heavily over Joe’s side. He hurriedly sits up. “Oh god, did I drool all over you?”

Joe’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Don’t worry about that. Listen, I think I’m going to take you home. I’m half afraid you’re going to pass out here.”

That doesn’t sound like an entirely terrible idea to his inebriated brain. “Is that a problem?”

“Unfortunately,” Joe relents, smiling slightly. “The floor is very hard and your back isn’t going to thank you tomorrow. Why don’t I-” he stands up in front of him, all fluid movement and grace. How is he not at least a _little_ bit tipsy? He holds out a hand for Nicky to take. -”drop you home, and then we can continue this conversation when we’re _both_ awake and sober?” 

Nicky doesn’t think he’s capable of complex thought and rational decisions at the moment, so he decides to leave it to Joe. He takes his hand and is pulled up, and then immediately sways forward. “Woah,” Joe says, catching him around the biceps just in time before he falls right on top of him. “Careful, there. Are you alright, Nico? Can you walk?” 

Nicky forgoes replying for a second while he giggles. Yes, he’s reached that point of drunkenness where all he can do is giggle. Joe looks at him like he’s not sure whether he should be amused or concerned. “Of course I can _walk,_ ” he tells him, defensively. 

“Of course,” Joe agrees graciously, but when they walk towards the door he walks very close to Nicky like he’s afraid he’s going to fall over and Nicky can _feel_ where his hand hover over the small of his back, prepared to catch him in case he does.

“I finished all your wine,” Nicky tells him, guiltily. Joe hands him his jacket and he shrugs into it with slight difficulty.

Joe grins while he zips up his own. “It’s not mine, first of all, it’s Book’s, secondly, we shared it, and thirdly, I don’t really care as long as you enjoyed yourself. However-” he opens the door for him, still carefully staying very near his side as Nicky walks out. “I have a feeling you’re going to have a bitch of a hangover tomorrow.”

Nicky makes a face, not looking forward to that. “I’ll send Bella over. Please send her back with some coffee.”

The walk back to his flat is normally short, but it takes a little longer than usual this time, because the two of them walk slowly. Of course, Nicky has to watch his step, prevent himself from falling down like Joe seemed very sure he would. But also, he doesn’t want this evening to end. He wants to keep walking with Joe, just like this, hands brushing occasionally, Joe making him laugh with his stories. 

It’s cold, and Nicky’s hands are freezing, and he wishes he could slip his hands into Joe’s. Somehow Joe’s hands aren’t cold, he can tell because everytime their skin brushes he can feel the warmth. It might be his drunken mind rambling but all he can think is _he must run hot all the time, must be something inside of him, keeping him warm and flushed, and-_

“I believe this is your flat,” Joe says, all too soon. Nicky hadn’t even noticed when they’d turned into his street and now they’re in front of his building. Damn it. He could have stretched this out for a _little_ while longer, at least. “I’ll walk you upstairs.”

He doesn’t need to, Nicky can surely drag himself up four flights of stairs, but who is he to refuse? “I can walk,” he still says, and Joe smirks at him as he opens the door.

“I’m sure,” he says, a little indulgently. “Why don’t we do this, just for my sake? You know. For my peace of mind.”

Nicky rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his insides squirm. Joe tells him to walk ahead of him, and truth be told, he feels a little better having someone behind him because making his way up the stairs _does_ make him feel slightly woozy. He’s glad he manages not to miss his step and send them both tumbling down, though, it would be a very rude payback for all of Joe’s sweet concern.

When they reach the landing, Nicky leans against his door, one hand on the handle. Joe stands next to him, hands in the pockets of his jacket, waiting patiently for Nicky to rummage around into his own pocket for his key. Nicky fingers it and doesn’t take it out, just stands there for a moment, wondering how to put into words this thing expanding inside of him like a hot air balloon.

“Thank you,” he decides, which, okay, isn’t what he’d planned, but it’s better than saying nothing at all. “For walking me home. And. The paint. And the pizza. And all the wine.”

“Maybe next time, we can do the walking-home thing when you’re not drunk?” For a second Nicky feels a flash of guilt before he realises Joe’s eyes are twinkling. _Oh._ “And. Um,” he licks his lips, cupping the back of his neck, looking endearingly nervous for some reason. “And if you. If you want. We can have a proper dinner, sometime. Together. You know, not on the floor of the coffee shop. And something other than Pizza Hut.”

Nicky looks at him, and he’s suddenly hit by a wave of affection so strong it almost knocks him over. _Santa Maria, Madre dio,_ this man, this fucking man, what is Nicky going to _do_? “That sounds...nice,” he says, lamely. “I mean. Yes, yes, I would like that, a lot.” Is he asking him out? Is that a date? It sounds like a date. Oh god. Nicky wishes he were more sober for this.

Joe grins, and it’s pure sunshine. “I’ll ask you again tomorrow, just to make sure. You found your key?”

Nicky holds it up in hand, swallowing. “Yes.”

“In you go, then, and right into bed, please,” Joe leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, gesturing to the door with his head, trying to look authoritative. He fails. He only looks adorable. “Goodnight, Nico.”

“Goodnight,” he says, and almost scrambles inside once he unlocks the door. Not the most graceful of exits, but his heart was hammering inside his chest, and Nicky is drunk and running low on inhibitions, which means he would have shoved Joe up against his door and kissed him right there if he hadn’t removed himself from the situation. All the adrenaline that was keeping him on his feet outside leaves his body in a rush and he slides down the door, ending up on the floor in a heap.

He hears the soft pat-pat-pat of Bella’s paws against the floor and soon a solid, warm, furry mass launches itself at him and starts licking his face.

“Hello,” Nicky says to his dog, who immediately settles down on his lap (or at least put as much of her body as she can into his lap, which isn’t much.) “Bella, I have so much to tell you. But I’ve been ordered to get into bed, so let’s do this there.”

He manages to pull himself off the floor. He decides to forego brushing his teeth, instead slipping out of his jeans and falling into the bed, Bella settling down next to him. 

His last thought before drifting off is Joe saying _I’ll ask you again, tomorrow, just to make sure._ Idiot, he thinks fondly. Nicky has never been more sure of anything, or anyone, in his _life._

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews make me so happy!


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